


Radio Static

by Yevie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 2004, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Gen, Hitchhiking, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mercedes and Ingrid are amazing friends, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Trans Character, copious discussions of musical theater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25880497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yevie/pseuds/Yevie
Summary: And there, in the too-bright evening, Sylvain saw a black, person-shaped blip in the distance.Sylvain frowned. He hadn't even seen a gas station in miles. Who the hell would be walking out here in the dead heat of June? An idiot? A serial killer? Maybe a cactus. But as he drove closer, he confirmed that the figure was indeed a person, one who was wearing a black hoodie despite the heat. The person, boy, was sharp and thin with long hair tied back and hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark wash jeans. There was something about the stiff set of his shoulders that said that he might stab Sylvain if Sylvain were to let him. So, Sylvain did what any reasonable person would do - he pulled over.Sylvain Gautier has just turned 21 years old, finished his junior year of college and has no damn clue what he wants from his life other than for it to stop suffocating him. So, he takes a road trip.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 44
Kudos: 155
Collections: Sylvix Big Bang





	Radio Static

**Author's Note:**

> This story is about two things - being a queer abuse survivor, and being an adult. 
> 
> While little is described in explicit detail, this story deals with abuse, alcohol, internalized homophobia, toxic masculinity, and implicit suicidal ideation. As in canon, Miklan did attempt to murder Sylvain in the past and that is discussed in this fic, though the event itself is not shown.
> 
> Thank you [@ness_linh](https://twitter.com/ness_linh) for the art! She's amazing and you should check out her other art.
> 
> Thank you [Eth](https://twitter.com/gautired), [Elliot](https://twitter.com/ashes8012), [Devin](https://twitter.com/punchyfakegamer) and [FM](https://twitter.com/FMMars1) for beta-ing and being exceptionally encouraging. This fic really, REALLY would not have been the same without them.

" _Hey, Sylvain, it's Ingrid. I haven't seen you since finals, so I just wanted to remind you that tomorrow is our Thank God It's Over dinner. Mercedes is doing the cooking, but don't forget to bring something._ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 16, 2004, 7:33 pm

" _Hey Sylvain, it's Ingrid again. Haven't heard back from you yet, but reminding you that the dinner's tonight. Don't miss it. I don't have to remind you that this is the last time we have to be together before the summer._ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 17, 2004, 3:42 pm

" _Hey Sylvain, it's Ingrid. I know you've been stressed lately, but you're late. Dinner started an hour ago. Your food was getting cold, so I ate it. Are you coming or not? Mercedes is getting worried._ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 17, 2004, 8:22 pm

" _Sylvain Jose Gautier where the hell were you last night? Why aren't you answering my messages? Or my texts? What's going on?_ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 18, 2004, 11:06 am

" _I went to your place and your car's gone. Your neighbor says he hasn't seen you in days. Where are you? Do I need to call the police? Answer my messages._ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 18, 2004, 1:55 pm

" _Sylvain, this isn't funny! Answer your phone!_ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 18, 2004, 2:01 pm

" _What the hell, if you do not call me back in one hour I am filing a missing person's report, this is not a joke, Sylvain._ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 18, 2004, 2:31 pm

" _I went to the police and they laughed me off, but by God, you better not be dead. Please do not be dead. You are my best friend, you idiot, what is going on?_ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 18, 2004, 5:16 pm

" _Sylvain, please, please, please pick up your phone._ "

Ingrid Galatea - June 18, 2004, 9:54 pm

" _Hey, you've reached Sylvain. I know you must be dying to talk to me, but unfortunately, I have to keep you hanging for a little while longer. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you._ "

Voicemail box of Sylvain Jose Gautier

**Sunday, June 18th, 2004, 5:17 pm - The Grand Canyon**

Sweat dripped down Sylvain's back, leaving dark stains on his t-shirt. His stomach was churning and his head was doing something between dizziness and pounding. The contents of his stomach - mostly tequila and tacos from the previous night - had been vomited up half an hour ago, near the start of the trail. Thankfully, he'd had the sense to stuff a few water bottles into his backpack - they helped wash the taste of puke out of his mouth. They also kept him from becoming vulture food. Not that Sylvain would have minded being eaten by vultures then.

Nature and hangovers? In theory, a folksy remedy. In practice, possibly one of the worst ideas Sylvain had had in the past twenty-four hours, counting gambling away hundreds of dollars in Vegas. But, Sylvain doubted his father would even notice the credit card charge. His old man rarely checked what exactly Sylvain was blowing his money on. If Sylvain decided to blow it on blow but still sent over a near-perfect 3.9 UCLA GPA at the end of the semester, his father's only issue would be that it wasn't a 4.0. The actual GPA Sylvain had sent over had been a 3.98.

Hands on his knees, Sylvain hunched down. There was a rustling in the bush that sounded almost like a mocking titter. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up little canyon bunny. I'm an idiot - what else is new?" A gust of wind blew past Sylvain, sending hot air and red dust right into his face. Coughing, Sylvain nearly fell over. The bush tittered again. It reminded Sylvain of Monica's... or had her name been Alissa or... well, whoever the girl he'd tried to fuck last night had been. He hadn't been able to get it up - whiskey dick was as much of a little bitch as he was - and his equally drunk companion hadn't been able to stop laughing.

He dared actually taking off his sunglasses to wipe the dust off. The sun made him flinch, like broken glass shattering into his still bloodshot eyes. Thankfully, the last people he saw - a too happy couple dressed in matching purple gear - had passed him by ten minutes ago and thus could not throw him overly concerned glances. Shoving the lenses back on, Sylvain tried to force himself to stand, only for nausea to overwhelm him and actually force him to the ground this time. It was a sign.

He'd hiked often enough to know better than to continue plowing forward. Back when his father still tried to act like a father, the Gautier family had taken many trips to America's Great Outdoors. Sylvain could still remember his mother slathering sunscreen on him and Miklan as his father finished packing up snacks and water bottles. He remembered the stupid matching t-shirt's they all had on - they were for his father's campaign for Washington's state senate with a goofily quaint design featuring a family photo advertising Victor León Gautier as a family man.

Pulling his knees to his chest, Sylvain breathed in the dry air. The path was narrow, and just beyond it, the canyon curved on and on. Tiny green bushes grew stubbornly through cracks in pink stone. Long, late afternoon shadows stretched out, making everything look sharp and vaguely unreal. He could see miles of towering rocks, dappled with the shadows of the clouds that hung above them. It was so much quieter than the city - Sylvain could actually make out the sound of birds, insects, and even the wind. Beautiful. But it was the solitude that made Sylvain feel a little bit better. Here, away from the eyes of both friend and foe, of family and stranger, he could finally let himself rest.

From his backpack, he pulled a bottle of water and guzzled it down way faster than sensible. He nearly coughed up half of it. Hysterical laughter burst out of him. God, he was such a loser. He couldn't even drink water right. What a joke! Mr. Perfect Smile and Perfect GPA and Perfect Politician's Son couldn't fucking manage a bottle of water. Too bad Mercedes wasn't there to snap a photo of this to add to her scrapbook. She could even publish it on the internet. Then, maybe Sylvain's father would see it and disown Sylvain's ass so Sylvain wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Wouldn't that be the perfect punchline?

Sylvain's fingers curled into the fabric of his shorts. He started to shake. Fuck. That, maybe, would have been too much of a punchline. It hit him right in the gut, knocking all the air out of him. He drew breath like a drowning man finally managing to come up for air. A tiny hiss of a whine escaped and then, there were tears.

Sylvain realized this abstractly at first, the distant feeling of wetness rolling down his cheeks and mucus gathering in his nose. It was as if he could see himself from a distance, a grown-ass man, twenty-one years old, scrubbing a dusty hand underneath large sunglasses as sobs forced their way out of him. From that distance, he could make his judgments - pathetic, unmanly, weak. From that distance he could have compassion - wow, this guy's definitely going through some shit right now, isn't he? From that distance, Sylvain could imagine walking away and leaving himself in the dirt. He could imagine continuing up the mountain and pretending the wreck he saw earlier wasn't his problem. It would be so much easier than dealing with the way his chest felt like it was ripping itself in two.

But even Sylvain wasn't that good at pretending. And in a blink, it wasn't just some guy sobbing, but himself. He tried to bite it down, fight it off, shove his feelings away along with his tears. He had no right to cry like this. Someone could come at any moment. This was so stupid. He needed to stop. Stop. Stop!

He didn't stop.

Shadows grew longer. Clouds moved. Winds blew by. Sylvain's sobs went from ravaging him to quiet whimpers to nothing. And then he sat, silent and still in the dirt, too hollowed out to do more than stare forward.

It was the rumbling of his stomach that snapped him from his stupor. A comical growl. He hadn't been able to eat breakfast. He had walked uphill, in the hot sun, for almost an hour. Eating probably was necessary. Pulling out another bottle of water from his backpack, he took a sip. Then he reached into the front pocket and pulled out a few granola bars. Those hadn't been his smart packing, but rather Mercedes' gift. She'd given him, Ingrid and Dorothea each a pack for finals week because Mercedes was the fucking best. Sylvain had been too stressed to actually eat his then, but they were still in his backpack now, and were going to be the reason he lived through today. Possibly, he should have been thankful for that.

As he munched on the bar, the sky turned a rusty red, making the world around him look as if it were on fire. Sylvain let himself consider poetry and the merits thereof rather than trying to make sense of what had happened.

**Sunday, June 18th, 2004, 11:43 pm - Tusayan, Arizona**

The only light in the room was the faint, blue tint of static from the television set. It was a cheap model, ancient, even for shitty motel standards, not that Sylvain knew much about shitty motels. Still, he could make some reasonable assumptions about what the standard model of a shitty motel was and extrapolate from there. And he figured, normally, one could at least get the TV to play some form of pay-per-view porn full of actors trying way too hard to sound turned on. But it wasn't like he'd have even been able to try enjoying the campiness of it all with his phone going off.

It had gone off twice that night. Ingrid again. Sylvain hadn't actually listened to the messages, but given the amount of them, he was pretty sure he knew what was in them. He should have felt guilty. Maybe a part of him even sort of did. It was kind of hard to pick out emotions from the vague sense of gnawing numbness that had been slowly devouring him since he'd flopped down into this bed.

Still, he probably should answer the phone. Ingrid did have his father's number. Closing his eyes, Sylvain inhaled, and then instantly regretted it because the sheets definitely did not smell washed. After a minor coughing fit, he picked up the phone.

"Ingy, sweetheart, darling, baby--"

"Keep going and I will track you down and strangle you. Where the fuck have you been? Everyone is worried! Mercedes considered--"

Sylvain held the phone away from his ear and cringed. "Don't make me block your number, Ingrid."

"You wouldn't dare."

He shrugged, despite the fact that there was no way Ingrid could see it. With a drawn-out sigh, Sylvain said, "No, but only because Dorothea would actually murder me." Which was unfair, because Dorothea had been his friend before she'd been Ingrid's girlfriend, but alas, love, war, fairness. Everyone knew the story.

The sound that came out of Ingrid might have been a sniffle and there might have been a shuddering breath. Or it could have been static. Sylvain hoped that it was static. "Sylvain, where are you? What is going on? You better have an explanation! You better--"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, champ. I can answer one question at a time."

"Then answer one!"

"Well... I'm in Arizona."

"What are you doing in Arizona!?"

"Eh... Mostly, recovering from a hangover. Look, Ingrid, I'm fine. Promise. I just..." He looked out the window, to the once white blinds of the neighboring building. Just what? The gnawing numbness ebbed back into that terrifying ache that had overtaken him earlier. Sylvain forced it back. "Just decided I could use a road trip. Drive back home instead of fly." Yeah, that sounded right. That was definitely what he was doing despite the fact that he hadn't brought more than a change of clothes with him. Despite the fact that he'd had to buy a toothbrush from the nearest CVS. He was simply packing light. Forgoing materialism. Yeah.

"Are you being serious?" Ingrid asked, something like disgust creeping into her voice.

"What? A bit of spontaneity and adventure is sexy. All the girls love it." He said but wasn't quite able to wrangle the exaggeratedly lascivious tone that he normally used when he wanted to distract Ingrid by annoying her.

There was silence over the line.

"I'm fine Ingrid. Sorry I missed the dinner. Tell Mercedes and Dorothea that I adore them and will see them next semester. I'm sure they can survive a few months without my sparkling personality. Also, I forgot to pack Jimmy, so check up on him. But remember, he's a cactus, so do not overwater him."

There was more silence over the line before Sylvain heard the intake of breath that signaled a lecture coming up. And, nope. No.

"Oh shit, Ingrid, can't hear. Bzzz. Zzzz. Connection-zzz. Bzzz. Think-zzz. Go." And then he hung up and shut off his phone. It perhaps was not his most elegant of exits, but it was still more elegant than the time he'd had to crawl out of a window, naked, because the husband of the woman he'd been sleeping with had come home early.

**Monday, June 19th, 2004, 7:22 pm - Route 66, New Mexico**

"We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe," Sylvain sang. "And save from devastation our brains. We'll pack up all our junk and fly so far away, devote ourselves to projects that sell." It helped to mitigate the silence of a radio that had only been able to catch static on the last stretch of empty freeway. Sylvain had almost forgotten how monotonous long drives could be. He was pretty sure he'd passed that same rock about three times now. That hill looked suspiciously familiar. If it weren't for the occasional road sign telling him that he'd made progress, Sylvain would have been convinced he'd been driving in place. The manic haze that had taken him from LA to Vegas to the Grand Canyon was morphing into a sharply stabbing clarity telling him that he was going to eventually, at some point, end up back at his father's house.

Shaking his head, Sylvain finished off the song, "Do you know the way to Santa Fe? You know, Tumbleweeds, prairie dogs, yeah." Not that Sylvain had seen prairie dogs. There were only the scraggly bushes growing in dry, cracking dessert, trucks trekking their way through, and the hot sun beating down on everything. With a yawn, Sylvain tried to grab hold of his concentration. It'd been a while since he'd even seen a sign reading off anything but the speed limit, though he knew he'd just passed Gallup. He also knew that soon enough, he'd hit Albuquerque, in another couple of hours at worst. And yet, he couldn't help but wish that there was someone next to him, asking "are we there yet?" so he could be annoyed with their impatience rather than his own. He needed to stretch his legs.

Sylvain surveyed the land for a relatively appropriate place to stop. And there, in the too-bright evening, Sylvain saw a black blip in the distance. It was person-shaped. Sylvain frowned. He hadn't even seen a gas station in miles. Who the hell would be walking out here in the dead heat of June? An idiot? A serial killer? Maybe Sylvain was simply seeing a cactus. But as he drove closer, he confirmed that the figure was indeed a person, one who was wearing a black hoodie despite the heat. The person, boy, was sharp and thin with long hair tied back and hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark wash jeans. There was something about the stiff set of his shoulders that said that he might stab Sylvain if Sylvain were to let him. So, Sylvain did what any reasonable person would do - he pulled over.

The boy jerked, going from maybe stabby to definitely stabby in a flash. Sylvain rolled down the passenger's side window. "It's a little hot to be wearing a hoodie, don't you think?" he asked, letting an easy smile slip onto his face.

"What's it to you?" the boy growled, his dark eyes narrowing.

Sylvain shrugged, fingers tapping along the wheel. "Nothing really." Then Sylvain paused. He probably should drive on. There would be many a rest stop ahead, and he hadn't planned on picking up hitchhikers on the way home. Well, he hadn't planned anything, but the point still stood. And yet, despite all common sense, Sylvain put his car in park and turned off the engine.

The boy jerked back further, his hands curling into fists. Sylvain held up his own hands in the universal gesture of 'woah there, no harm meant.' The boy did not relax. He eyed Sylvain and Sylvain eyed him right back. Sweat soaked strands of hair clung to the boy's forehead, to the nape of his neck. There was the red flush of a newly forming sunburn along his nose. Under his bloodshot eyes, dark bags hung over sunken cheeks. Even from the distance between them, Sylvain could smell a stench that reminded him of Freshman year dorms during finals week, except much, much worse.

"I have water if you want a bottle," Sylvain offered.

"What?" The boy demanded.

"What?" Sylvain replied. Without waiting for a proper response, Sylvain reached into the backpack sitting on the passenger's seat and pulled out a bottle. He held it out to the boy and the boy grabbed it without a word. An instant later, the boy was gulping it down, as much water getting into his mouth as onto his shirt. When the boy finished drinking he looked off to the side.

A warm gust of air blew past, sending dust into Sylvain's car. He'd need to get his girl cleaned sooner rather than later. Shifting in his seat, Sylvain was tempted to get out of the car now, but then the kid might actually try stabbing him. So, instead, Sylvain asked, "You a hitchhiker or something?"

"No, I'm walking here for fun."

Defensive anger. Sylvain was familiar with that, in a second-hand smoke sort of way. The memory of Miklan sneaking home late, their father waiting, Miklan reeking of alcohol, the flash of fear, and then anger. Sylvain shook his head and blinked the thought away. Why was he even thinking of Miklan? He hadn't seen his brother in years, there'd only been that letter. And Sylvain was not thinking about that now.

Sighing, not really knowing what was possessing him - the spirit of Mercedes or perhaps the delirium of boredom - Sylvain asked, "You want a ride?"

The boy jerked again. There was a jumpiness there that Sylvain refused to recognize. If Sylvain were actually possessed by Mercedes, or Ingrid, or even Dorothea, he might have had something kind and empathetic to say, he might have offered to help the boy find home or safety or whatever. But Sylvain wasn't them, and if the boy decided to tell Sylvain to fuck off, Sylvain wouldn't let himself feel guilty about the likelihood that this kid would die of heatstroke. Probably. Maybe the kid's ghost would haunt him. Get in the way when Sylvain was trying to get laid. That sounded something like karma.

But the boy nodded and Sylvain unlocked the passenger's side door. "It's open."

Reaching out, the boy hesitated, hand hovering near the handle, and then he straightened his shoulders, met Sylvain's eyes, and got in.

**Monday, June 19th, 2004, 9:08 pm - Albuquerque, New Mexico**

After getting into town, Sylvain pulled into the first McDonald's parking lot he saw. It took one whiff of his sullen companion to decide that they were going through the drive-through. Steering his car into the line, Sylvain asked, "So, what'll it be?"

The kid didn't say anything at first, didn't even look up. Not that he'd said much of anything during the past two hours. His only words had been a grumbled thanks when Sylvain mentioned the energy bars in his backpack. Rolling his shoulders back, Sylvain glanced at the menu, with its dozen near-identical options for burgers. He could order the kid a happy meal - that would be kind of funny.

But, as the car in front of them pulled into the next window, the kid said, "I don't have cash."

Snorting, Sylvain rolled his eyes. "Didn't ask if you had cash - I asked what you wanted."

The boy looked over to Sylvain, brows furrowed, the obvious question probably sitting on the tip of his tongue, and there was likely the fear that asking it would make all of his luck run out. Or maybe he was constipated. Sylvain wasn't a mind reader.

"Come on, don't tell me you can't read. But if you need help, I can-"

"Fuck off," the boy huffed, but there wasn't any actual venom to it. "Quarter pounder. Medium fries. Large coke."

Sylvain doubled the order, not particularly feeling like making any more decisions than he'd already had.

They ended up staying in the parking lot, street lights illuminating the food they had spread out on napkins between them. Globs of ketchup dripped onto the boy's hoodie and jeans. His defensive hunch had eased into an almost comfortable curl. There was something stray cat-like about the boy then, kind of like the little black one who roamed near Sylvain's apartment. Sylvain used to set out water and food for it. Once, the little creature almost let Sylvain pet him. Okay, actually, that was a weird comparison.

Still, with all the caution of reaching out to pet a stray, Sylvain asked, "Do you have a name?"

The boy stopped chewing on his burger. Sylvain expected some sort of snide comment or sarcastic retort, but the boy's face morphed into an expression that Sylvain didn't quite understand. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, he looked frozen mid flinch, he looked like he was bracing for a hit. Maybe he was worried about Sylvain calling the cops? But before Sylvain could drop the question, the boy swallowed his food and said, "Felix. My name's Felix."

Sylvain nodded. "Nice to meet you, Felix, I'm Sylvain, and this lovely girl here is Daisy." He gave the wheel of his bright orange Mini Cooper a pat.

And, of all inexplicable things, the kid looked relieved. At least, he did for a second, before he seemed to catch himself and sneer, "You named this piece of junk Daisy?" It felt a bit forced, but Sylvain wasn't going to call the kid - Felix - out on it.

"Hey, you take that back," he said instead. "Daisy's a great car." The fact that she occasionally needed some encouragement to back up and occasionally decided to stutter at stoplights only meant that she was on the older side, and Sylvain appreciated older women.

Both of Felix's eyebrows shot up. "If you say so," he said before taking another huge bite of his burger. More ketchup sloshed onto Felix's hoodie.

Sylvain threw a napkin at Felix. "What would you know about cars? Are you even sixteen yet?"

Grabbing the napkin, Felix glared before wiping off his shirt. "I'm nineteen."

Sylvain couldn't help but sing-song, "But you're old for your age?" to the tune of 'Light My Candle.'

He met Felix's baffled expression with a snort. "It's from Rent - a musical." Though, Sylvain doubted Felix was the sort to listen to musicals. If he were placing bets, he'd bet that Felix only listened to music with lyrics that could be reinterpreted as 'fuck you dad.'

"I know what Rent is," Felix said Rent like one would say dog droppings. "It's almost as bad as Andrew Lloyd Webber's crap."

Good thing Sylvain hadn't actually bet money. A laugh burst out of him. "And here I thought you'd be into the Phantom," he said, earning exactly the disgusted look he'd wanted to receive. It reminded Sylvain of the time he'd bought Dorothea tickets to Cats for April Fools. He'd had to make it up to her by actually watching the musical with her, though he hadn't really understood the problem. Cats was gold. Dorothea's favorite musical, Cabaret, had sent Sylvain into an existential crisis.

How was Dorothea doing anyhow? She was probably trying to convince Ingrid to murder him. Or maybe she was planning the hit herself. Or maybe she was also enlisting Mercedes in a Charlie's Angels type secret spy thing to all kill Sylvain together. And then suddenly Sylvain didn't want to think about musicals much anymore.

He leaned back into his seat and looked up into a starless sky. The car radio read 7:18 but he knew that was wrong - that thing didn't seem to know what a minute was and even Ingrid had given up on trying to reset it. If Sylvain wanted the actual time, he could have grabbed his phone from the back seat. Or, he could have had he not also intentionally let it drain the battery so he didn't have to find out if Ingrid was still trying to call him. But, he didn't need the time. It was late and he knew it. Too late for him to drive much further without risking falling asleep at the wheel. And he wasn't going to let the kid drive.

Ah, yeah, Felix. Sylvain watched the boy out of the corner of his eyes. Felix was done with his burger and was slowly nibbling on fries now. Likely, he was anticipating the moment Sylvain kicked him out. Which Sylvain should do. Right?

"You headed anywhere in particular?" Sylvain asked instead.

Felix went stiff but shrugged. "No. Are you?"

"Ehhh..." Sylvain waved a hand through the air, drawing quick circles. "Technically, I suppose."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means I'm not going anywhere else tonight," Sylvain said.

Felix nodded and reached to unbuckle his seatbelt. Sylvain looked out the window again, to the empty desert with only a small trailer park and wide freeway breaking it up. There would probably be a payphone if the kid kept walking. Assuming the kid made it to a payphone. Frowning Sylvain shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. He'd been sitting too long. Once he got out of the car, he'd stretch his legs.

The seatbelt clicked.

Wincing, Sylvain asked, "You have a place you're sleeping?"

Felix's eyes widened, his mouth opened, and then almost instantly the expression shifted into a scowl. "I don't need pity."

From where Sylvain was sitting, it looked like the kid needed far more than pity. But, as much as he enjoyed provoking people, he did have some sense of timing. And now? Now wasn't the time for provocation. Instead, he sighed, "Call it a guilty conscience. Feels a little shitty to throw some kid out in the dark."

"I'm-"

"Nineteen. I know. A kid," Sylvain smirked. Okay, maybe he sometimes couldn't help but provoke.

Felix growled, but he didn't move from his seat. "I still don't have cash."

"I'll take that sunny personality of yours as payment." Then Sylvain shifted the car into reverse. "Buckle your seatbelt." He drove off, in search of the nearest motel he could find.

**Tuesday, June 20th, 2004, 12:18 am - Albuquerque, New Mexico**

The first thing the kid did after they got into the hotel room was take off his shoes and set them neatly by the door, the second was say, "I'm showering," and lock himself in the bathroom for something like an hour.

Sylvain took that as a queue to get himself freshened up as well. He pulled off his sweat-soaked t-shirt and folded it, before setting it down onto the motel bedside table - he only had so much clean clothing left and he wasn't going to cross-contaminate it. Then he did the same with his shorts and Ninja Turtle boxers. From his backpack, he pulled what clothes remained - a pink polo, blue chino pants, and a pair of briefs.

The shorts he hung on the back of a chair. It wouldn't make them look much less rumpled, but it might convince him to iron his clothes in the morning so he didn't look like he'd forgotten to change after a walk of shame. Sleeping would have been a good idea, but after Sylvain crashed down onto the bed, all he could do was stare up into the ceiling and listen to the whooshing of the shower and a distant argument playing out a block away. And if he didn't focus on the noise, his thoughts would drift, landing on his uncharged phone, on the guy he'd kissed at Dorothea's last party. Or on the letter he'd gotten from Miklan, crumpled in the bottom of his backpack because he hadn't thrown it out the moment he'd gotten it or any moment afterward. He rolled to the side, squeezing his eyes shut and tried to count sheep - except by the time he got to fifty he was no more sleepy and infinitely more irritated. Turning again, he tried to form shapes in the cracks on the wall, but all that got him was memories of broken bottles. He turned again.

Ten or so minutes of torturing himself later, Sylvain gave up. He picked up the remote and turned on MTV. There was Britney Spears, half-naked, covered in glitter one moment, the next she was a scantily clad flight attendant, showing off perfect tits and a perfect ass as she bent over. That caught Sylvain's eye. There was nothing like T and A to distract from the world's ills. He was too classy to turn on porn when he had a roommate, but certainly, Felix, if he ever came out of the shower, couldn't complain about good old Britney.

The videos went from bubbly and fun to someone singing in the rain about coming clean, to a guy saying that he promised he wasn't crazy (the water in the bathroom shut off), to Justin Timberlake being heartbroken, to a pair of schoolgirls being very touchy with each other.

Felix came out right around then, dressed again in his still dirty hoodie and jeans. Sylvain wrinkled his nose. Looking at the TV, Felix made an expression that mirrored Sylvain's. Which was unfair. MTV's choice of programming was not a reflection of Sylvain. However, putting dirty clothes back on after a shower was blasphemy.

"Do you want to borrow a shirt?" Sylvain asked. "I think you could use a new one."

A dark flush rose on Felix's cheeks, but he shook his head. "I'm good."

"Suit yourself."

And then Felix stood there, his eyes flickering between the TV and the window. Probably, he wanted Sylvain to turn it off, and yeah, even if Sylvain was going to end up staring at a dark ceiling all night, one of them should get some sleep. He clicked the remote and the overly-affectionate school girls vanished.

Half an hour later, Sylvain rolled over for the possibly dozenth time to find himself looking right at a very much not asleep Felix. The kid jerked. Sylvain snorted. "Worried I'm going to try and murder you in your sleep?" Sylvain asked, casual, easy.

Felix huffed. "If you were going to murder me, you'd have had an easier time in the desert."

Check and mate. "Yeah, probably." Sylvain shifted in bed so that he was sitting up. "But, I'm getting pretty bored with the insomnia - mind if I turn on the TV?"

"You going to watch... whatever the fuck that was again."

"MTV - think they're called... Tutu? Russian or something. I don't know. Dorothea - friend of mine - probably would."

Glancing over at Felix, Sylvain saw a skeptical look on the kid's face.

"Or we could also keep sitting in the dark if you're too much of a music elitist for MTV."

"I'm not an elitist, I just have taste."

"Oh yeah? So far I know you hate Rent, Webber, and any form of popular music. Sounds like you hate music, really." A wide grin spread across Sylvain's face - this was a victory, and even if it was a stupid victory in a probably onesided war, Sylvain wanted a win.

But Felix apparently didn't feel defeated. "Just because I don't want to listen to underdressed celebrities yowling the same four chords does not mean I don't enjoy music." There was something like a challenge hanging in the kid's voice. Well, now, that could be fun.

"Yeah?" Sylvain asked, shifting himself further up so that he was sitting cross-legged on the mattress. "Okay, tell me some music you actually do like. And if it’s all things like opera or Bach or whatever, you definitely, one-hundred percent are, an elitist. Also, I'm pretty sure Bach was pop back in the day."

The kid's face went through the five stages of disgust (lesser known than, but no less distinctive than, the five stages of grief) and then he sat up as well. "Are you lumping in all of opera with a baroque-era composer?"

"I don't know, am I?" Sylvain sing-songed in his most annoying voice.

Felix slammed a hand into his forehead. "Has anyone ever told you that you are absolutely infuriating?"

For the second time since meeting Felix, Sylvain could not contain his laughter. He gripped his stomach as guffaws fell out. He'd only been told that a thousand times by a thousand different faces, and thus it shouldn't have been at all funny when Felix said it. But, there was something about the irritated scrunch of his nose, the too serious frown, the sharp eyes focused just over Sylvain's shoulder. Felix looked like a murderous kitten. He looked even more like one when he picked up a pillow and threw it right at Sylvain's head.

The impact did manage to stop Sylvain's laughter for a second. He paused, blinking at the lumpy off white thing now sitting in his lap. Then he looked back at Felix, who had somehow found a way to scowl deeper while managing to look even less threatening than he'd had a moment ago. Picking up the pillow, Sylvain gave it a pat. "You do know what you've started, right?"

Felix's brows furrowed, but before his face could be overtaken by confusion, it was overtaken by the very pillow he'd thrown at Sylvain. "What the fuck?" Felix yelped.

"Like I said, you started this." Sylvain grinned, already reaching for the pillow behind him.

There were a few things Sylvain expected, mostly along the lines of having a pillow, a blanket, and possibly something more dangerous lobbed at his head. What Sylvain hadn't expected was for Felix to launch himself out of bed, pillow in hand. Nor had he expected to be repeatedly thwacked with said pillow. But, he wasn't going to let that stand without retaliation.

Shoving himself backward, Sylvain rolled out of the way of Felix's blows and threw his pillow at Felix. He picked up another as Felix shook off the impact. Momentarily, Sylvain had the high ground. He managed to land a few hits before a well-placed dodge and tactical grab had Felix holding two pillows and Sylvain holding none.

"Hey! No fair," Sylvain said between laughs as he scrambled to grab another pillow.

"You're too slow." Felix smirked. He tossed aside the extra pillow and resumed his assault. In the ensuing chaos, it became impossible to tell who was winning. Felix was fast and slippery, dodging often, but when he was hit, he seemed to stutter in surprise each time. Meanwhile, Sylvain could wait out a few blows before finding exactly the right moment to strike. It was an evenly matched war that was only ended when both of them were too overwhelmed with giggles to continue their righteous battle.

They lay back, staring up at the dark ceiling as they caught their breath.

"What the fuck was that?" Felix asked, sounding the most relaxed that Sylvain had heard him.

Sylvain shrugged. "Probably the product of insomnia. Or maybe just a pillow fight."

An elbow shoved lightly into Sylvain's side.

Letting out a puff of breath, Sylvain shrugged. Drowsiness was finally starting to hit, but he wasn't ready to surrender to the solitude of his own head quite yet. So, instead, he said, "You know, you still haven't told me what sort of music you do like."

There was quiet, before softly, Felix said, "Bach."

When Sylvain peaked over to see if Felix was trying to get a laugh out of him - because if he was, it certainly was tempting - Sylvain saw something akin to sheepish smugness on Felix's face.

"Blink-182's not bad either," Felix added. Sylvain's laughter filled the room, soon joined by Felix's soft chuckle.

**Tuesday, June 20th, 2004, 8:57 am - Albuquerque, New Mexico**

The morning light leaked through the hotel blinds, painting stripes along the mattress and blankets and scattered pillows and, most unfortunately, Sylvain's face. He groaned, cursing himself for not shutting the damn things. Whatever the time was, it was too early for Sylvain to be awake after multiple sleepless nights.

Last night was the first in he didn't know how long that he'd managed to avoid dreaming of something horrible. He'd call it miraculous, but then he remembered he'd had aid.

Sylvain's eyes blinked open. He didn't look to his side immediately, instead glancing at the chair where his shorts hung, and his backpack sat undisturbed, to the alarm clock that read a later hour than Sylvain had anticipated, to the still cracked wall. Then he could procrastinate no longer. His gaze turned to the figure curled next to him, a dark ball with face smushed into a pillow and straight, thick hair spread in a tangle. Felix didn't have a blanket on, but given that he was fully dressed and that the air conditioner in their room only occasionally made the effort to blast a puff of cold air out, Sylvain doubted the kid had minded much.

They'd stayed up the night before, talking in soft voices about nothing much important, past even when both of them found their eyelids had drooped too heavy to keep open. It'd been this surreal thing, a bit like sobering up after a night of being forget-everything-drunk. But, in the stark light of day, Sylvain felt almost hungover. He couldn't pinpoint why. Nothing he'd said or done had been anywhere near as regrettable as his actions over the previous week. Nothing could have lasting consequences. And yet...

Groaning again, Sylvain forced himself to sit up. It didn't matter. He needed to take a piss, brush his teeth, and figure out where the fuck he was headed to next. East, obviously. If Sylvain took the most direct route, he could get to DC in two or three days. That thought, however, was even more stomach-churning than this morning's aimless anxiety.

So. Detour.

Sylvain swung his legs over the edge, careful not to accidentally knock Felix as he stood from the bed. He'd had plenty of experience slipping away from sleeping lovers, and while the scenario here was not quite the same, the experience was still applicable. There was only a slight shift and quiet mumble from Felix as Sylvain moved away.

From the distance, the kid looked even smaller than he'd had in the bed - his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped tightly around a pillow - like he was protecting it from attack. That was the other elephant in the circus of the room - at some point, Sylvain would have to throw this kid back to the wolves. Though, if he put off thinking about that for long enough, the kid might make the decision for Sylvain. Sylvain was very tired of decisions.

So, right, detour. Where to next?

As he brushed his teeth, Sylvain hummed 'the Tango Maureen,' because he couldn't seem to get Rent out of his brain. It wasn't really the musical - he knew it was far from perfect - Dorothea and Ingrid's bickering keyed him in. They'd gone to Denny's after the show and, in between playing footsie and flirting, Ingrid and Dorothea debated what exactly the musical had gotten wrong about the AIDS crisis and queer experience in the early 90s. It was that dinner that stuck with him, with Ingrid and Dorothea unflinchingly walking into the restaurant, hands linked. Mercie, comfortable with her skirt and long hair and bright smile despite the fact that her adoptive father was now her former adoptive father. And Sylvain, draped back in his seat, putting up the pretense that he was even half as brave as his friends.

(When Mercie dropped him off at his place later, he'd given her a stumbling half-coming out, the words like hacked up chunks lodged deep in his throat. She'd understood him anyhow.)

"Do you ever stop singing?" Felix called out, cutting through Sylvain's thoughts.

Sylvain would have had something smart and witty to say back, but there was a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and foam liable to leak out at any moment. So, instead, he glanced out of the door, to where Felix still lay, barely shifted from his previous position.

"Humming's not singing," Sylvain said around the brush, though how intelligible it came out was up for debate.

Raising his head from the pillow, Felix spared Sylvain one withering look before stuffing his face right back into the thing. "Disgusting."

Shaking his head, Sylvain finished off his morning hygiene, wiped his face, and with towel still in hand he walked back into the main room. "Humming's not singing," Sylvain repeated, again. "But, sorry if I woke you."

"It's fine." Felix didn't look up from the pillow. It reminded Sylvain a little bit of the few morning afters where a one-night stand didn't politely sneak off before Sylvain woke. Though, normally he defused the situation by offering to make waffles and showing off his very cool, Spiderman waffle maker. It always got him a chuckle and often enough dissuaded any potential suitors who wanted someone a little more serious.

But he hadn't metaphorically slept with Felix, only done the literal act. And there were no waffles for him to make. So, Sylvain was stuck, feeling more naked than if he were actually naked, with a near-stranger in his bed.

Ah, fuck it. "So, I'm going to Santa Fe. But, I kind of want waffles first. You don't have some problem with waffles, right?"

This time Felix did look up. And there was that flash of question, that mirroring of all too naked vulnerability flickering across his face. But, before Sylvain could interrupt that with some poorly thought out deflection, Felix said, "They taste like sugar."

The laugh that came out of Sylvain sounded like the hiss of air escaping from a slowly deflating balloon. "Yeah, that's the best part. Even better when you drown them in maple syrup. Then it's maple sugar." If the words came out too fast, Felix didn't call Sylvain out on it. Instead, he sat up and combed a hand through the nest upon his head. There was more frowning, some tugging, and Felix, without even attempting to locate a comb, wrapped his hair up on his head in a messy, still very tangled bun.

Sylvain, who may or may not have spent ten minutes with a comb and hair drier attempting to get his hair to look effortlessly tussled, did not approve. But rather than complain about Felix, he found the hotel iron and decided to assume he'd be paying for two breakfasts.

**Tuesday, June 20th, 2004, 11:18 am - Santa Fe, New Mexico**

They arrived in Santa Fe with the sun high in the sky and air so hot it felt near solid. Daisy was having one of her bad days, and thus the air conditioning was failing. Only the tiny bit of shame Sylvain held onto kept him from stripping right then and there. But Felix, whose entire face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, had that same pissed off at the world expression he'd been wearing since Sylvain met him. Speaking of things Felix had not taken off--

"We're buying you new clothes," Sylvain said like a statement of fact.

"Excuse me," Felix actually looked at Sylvain's face for once, meeting Sylvain's flat expression with full frontal offense.

"You look like you're dying in that thing. Also, you smell. And I was sixteen once--"

"Nineteen." Felix interrupted.

"I was sixteen once," Sylvain continued, "And remember being pretty annoyed that I had to wear deodorant, shower, and all that stuff. Did the whole drowning my sorrows in a spray of Axe thing, but I'll be honest, don't miss that. So, take it from me - you should get a new shirt. Preferably something that isn't a hoodie, but I get the whole emo thing is all the rage."

The fumes rising from Felix bled the line between metaphor and reality. For a second, Sylvain thought he might get punched. The clench of Felix's fists certainly suggested it. But instead, Felix inhaled and asked, "You going to pay for it?"

"Well, duh."

And the tension in Felix's shoulders deflated ever so slightly. Sylvain almost felt bad for being an asshole. Almost, because he'd seen the looks little old ladies had given them during breakfast. Also, shopping gave them an excuse to be indoors. Sylvain's original, admittedly half-baked, plan of wandering around the city until he found something interesting seemed like it would end with heatstroke.

Thus, it was JC Penny. After days of dingy motel rooms and dying diners, it felt surreal to be in a brightly lit department store, plastered with posters of crisply smiling models dressed in perfectly tailored clothes. Though, to be honest, Sylvain couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to a department store. Most of his clothes were bespoke, thanks to Daddy's Credit Card and Daddy's Standards. The rest were thrifted pieces - bolder (gayer) than anything he dared wear back in DC - that he'd gotten when helping Mercie shop for replacement clothes.

But, if Sylvain felt a little out of place, Felix looked like he was going to crawl out of his skin. His eyes darted across the aisles, his hands were crossed so firmly across his chest one might think he was hugging himself. That kind of made Sylvain feel guilty for dragging the kid here. "You know, I wasn't trying to force you. We can--"

"It's fine," Felix said too fast, he straightened his back, squared his shoulders and looked no less uncomfortable. "Let's go," he said, stalking over to the men's section.

Sylvain trailed after, apologizing as he nearly bumped into a random girl while trying to keep pace. When he caught up to Felix, he found the kid scowling at the racks of clothes before him. Well, Sylvain had to admit, most of the options either looked like something a middle-aged professor would wear to a barbeque or way too colorful for Felix. But, Sylvain didn't feel like trying to figure out if the other department stores in town were better stocked. There was the option of going to Hot Topic, but somehow he figured Felix would take offense to the suggestion.

Instead, he walked past Felix and began paging through the clothes hanging on the discount rack, trying to find something black and possibly spikey. He was pretty sure Felix would go for spikey. When he found a t-shirt that looked like it might work - it had a skull on it - he held it out. "Whatch'ya think?"

Felix shrugged a shoulder. "It's okay."

"Great," he handed it off, "Hold onto it then."

There turned out to be more than a few okay-ish looking shirts that Sylvain grabbed, and at some point, while Sylvain was looking away, Felix managed to get hold of a black hoodie, near-indistinguishable from the one he wore.

"You really sure you want a hoodie?" Sylvain asked, not particularly wanting to deal with Felix getting heatstroke.

"Yes," Felix said in a tone that left no room for questions.

It wasn't like Sylvain was responsible for this kid's wellbeing so he didn't try and find room. With a sigh, he led the way to the changing rooms, and this somehow felt even more like dragging a reluctant puppy to the vet than getting Felix to enter the store had. Maybe the kid's mom had been the one to buy him clothes - lay them out for him on the bed, and offer suggestions as Felix complained, like Ingrid's mom had before Ingrid had gotten tired of being stuffed into frills and pink. Then again, it seemed weird that Felix would be hitch-hiking if his mom was anything like Ingrid's.

"You're not coming in here," Felix said when they got to the changing room.

Blinking, Sylvain laughed in vague disbelief. "Had no plans to. You kind of smell."

And Felix slammed the door on him, but Sylvain deserved that. He leaned back against a wall, letting his eyes drift shut for the moment. The cheery Top 40s radio played Britney in the background and Sylvain tried to focus on that, rather than let himself think. But, he could very well still feel the weight of his phone in his pocket - still uncharged, with messages still left unlistened to. How ridiculous that he was still ignoring his friends while taking some stranger shopping.

But, if he called Ingrid again tonight, he wouldn't be able to face the betrayal he was sure he'd find in her voice. They'd been near glued at the hip since childhood - two politician's kids both a little too _something_ to really fit in with the rest of their DC peers. Sylvain was better at not being _something_ \- he smiled and wooed and dodged, while Ingrid punched her way through rejection and ignored the bruises. They'd both known Sylvain was the coward, but sometimes Ingrid seemed to hope he could be better. Now, she could have no doubts. Sylvain wasn't worth her time.

Mercie would hear him out, be sympathetic. Maybe. Or maybe she'd give him that soft condemnation she aimed at those worthy of her contempt but not her anger. She'd always seemed to understand who Sylvain was in a way others hadn't, but... But, if Sylvain picked up the phone and called her, she might ask 'why.' Why was Sylvain in a Santa Fe dressing room?

The door cracked open and Felix stepped out. "These fit," he held up a few shirts and the hoodie in his right hand. "These didn't," he held up the rest in his left.

Sylvain shook his head, willing himself back into the moment. "Awesome. Leave those, take those, and let's check out. I'm starving. How do chili fries sound? I bet we could find some in the food court."

And there must have been something weird in his tone because the furrow in Felix's brows looked more like concern than irritation. Felix opened his mouth, then shut it. "Sure, fries," he said after a moment.

**Tuesday, June 20th, 2004, 4:31 pm - Santa Fe, New Mexico**

The Georgia O'Keefe museum was a small adobe building, easy to miss if one wasn't looking for it. Sylvain would have missed it if it weren't for the local attractions guide map he'd snagged at a gas station. The actual museum had been a whim. Everything Sylvain knew about O'Keefe, he'd learned when he'd taken an art history class to fill out his requirements.

"You like art museums?" Sylvain had asked Felix after passing him the guide.

"They're okay, I guess," Felix responded in a tone that barely hid his interest.

So, there they were, Felix standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, glaring up at a flower painting that Sylvain could only describe as "yonic." He hadn't seen this particular painting before, but he recalled a similar one, in the class where he and Ingrid had first met Dorothea. They'd been grouped together for a small discussion.

"You know, I think O'Keeffe was bisexual," Dorothea had mused, clearly making eyes at Ingrid.

And Ingrid, dense as the brick wall behind her, had said, "Well, I think it's sexist that people keep trying to reduce her paintings to vaginas."

And Sylvain had laughed, earning glares from both of them and sealing their alliance against him.

Recalling that now, Sylvain couldn't help but waggle his eyebrows and ask, "So, do you think this is just a flower or..." It broke through the stagnant silence between them. Well, the silence and one woman's loud complaints about how people should dress appropriately when visiting museums.

Felix hadn't so much as blinked at the woman's comments, but his cheeks had flushed a deep red. If Sylvain were a better person, he might have told the woman to mind her own business, but as it stood, Sylvain was all about distraction in the face of distress.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Felix asked. "Are you also going to tell me the skulls are dicks?"

"You shouldn't swear in a museum." Sylvain grinned. "Though, you know, if you squint," he gestured to a painting of a deer's skull, symmetric, pointed downwards, horns curved into near circles.

Narrowing his eyes, Felix shook his head. After a deep inhale, he said, "The inevitability of death."

Sylvain blinked, trying to piece together the non-sequitur before it clicked. Ah. "I don't know, that seems simplistic. Why the flowers, then? Seems a little more like life carrying on if we're going there. But honestly, I prefer a more Freudian lens. Less depressing." He turned and tipped his head towards Felix to keep walking. The woman who'd been complaining was now very pointedly glaring at them, and Sylvain didn't really feel like waiting for her to call the manager or whatever.

It was a landscape they stopped on, mountains spanning off into the distance of the desert. Sylvain couldn't help but think back to just, what was it, two days ago, when he'd been staring out at a similar view, watching the clouds move past as he tried to figure out what the fuck he was even doing existing. If he attempted to paint the scene, would the painting take those feelings on instead?

Or was he getting maudlin? Normally, he needed at least one drink before that particular impulse took him. And being drunk was another thing Sylvain didn't really want to think about too much right now. If he did, he thought of Miklan's letter - an innocuous looking thing he'd received over Spring Break from a 'Mark Gates' in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

 _Sorry about the fake name. I knew dad would chuck it out if he saw it was from me_.

Sylvain would have chucked it out too - not read the thing, not thought about Miklan or the fact that Miklan was apparently doing AA now, apparently had a job and apparently was _sorry_. Fuck his sorry. Fuck him. Fuck--

Sylvain rubbed a hand over his eyes. Nope, he was not thinking about that. "So, you like mountains?" Sylvain asked Felix.

"Mountains?"

Sylvain shrugged. "Trying to figure out where to go next," he lied, or half-lied, because well, he did have to figure out where to go next. There was Colorado, Oklahoma or Texas he could stop at, though Oklahmoma was out by default. What did anyone do there other than maybe sing show-tunes about winds sweeping down the plains. He'd had enough winds and plains by now.

There was a furrow to Felix's brow - and he could ask why Sylvain was bothering with his opinion, but he didn't. Instead, he said, "They're all right, I guess. It's been a while since I've been hiking."

"Great! The Rockies it is then," Sylvain said. They were up North, in Colorado and it was a lot greener there. The change of scenery, if nothing else would be great.

**Wednesday, June 21st, 2004, 12:31 pm - El Paso County, Colorado**

The evening after the museum had been quiet - they'd found a spot to eat, debated more about the potential symbolism in O'Keeffe's work, then the merits of art for the sake of it rather than art that meant something (Sylvain was all for nonsense, Felix was apparently an old man in a young body and thought most modern art was stupid), and then they stopped debating much of anything substantial. There'd only been two Important Debates. The first had been about when they slept.

"Come on, one movie?" Sylvain had pleaded.

"I'm not hiking half-asleep."

"You could sleep in the car - I'm the one driving."

"And I'm not getting into the car with a sleep deprived shithead." This won Felix the argument.

Come morning, when their hotel alarm went off at 6am, Sylvain found himself the tiniest bit grateful they had not stayed up watching Legally Blonde - though next hotel? They were definitely watching it because Felix apparently had never seen it.

The second debate had been about Sylvain's phone, and whether or not Sylvain had to charge it. Felix had also won that one.

Felix, who now was leaned back in his seat, eyes closed as the desert brush turned into pine trees and the radio lost the signal of the old Spanish Rock station that it'd been tuned in on. It was a peaceful sort of quiet, familiar in an aching way. Sylvain'd been to the Rockies before - it'd been one of the last road trips his family had taken before all the fissures and fractures had truly begun to show.

They'd driven from Seattle and Sylvain could still remember the slow change from green mountains to brown plains to back again and again. He could remember his parents talking in too serious tones about elections or taxes or something - he'd sorted it into the category of 'grown up' stuff back then. And there'd been him in the back seat, complaining about how Miklan had been hogging the Gameboy for the past two hours and it wasn't fair and wow, he'd been a brat.

A quiet groan cut into Sylvain's thoughts. Felix was stirring, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"We've still got three or so hours left," Sylvain said. "You might want to sleep some more."

Felix jerked, for a moment looking at Sylvain without any form of recognition. If Sylvain's muscle memory were not so strong he might have frozen up too, missed the curve of the road and swerved the car into a tree.

A breath passed and then Felix snapped out of his confusion. "Fuck off," he said, using what Sylvain was growing to understand was his trademark filler response.

"Can't do that while I'm driving. There's the rule about keeping both hands on the wheel."

"Fuck you," Felix said, this time with a pinch less awkwardness and a pinch more venom.

"Can't do that while I'm driving either. Besides, you're not my type," Sylvain lied. Sort of lied. He normally didn't go for greasy sophomores who needed to shower more, but he did tend to go for sharp tongues and quick wit and... the point was moot because even if Felix were his type, there were a few thousand reasons why it would be at best a bad idea and at worst an ethical misstep that would send him to hell if he weren't already destined for it.

Felix hacked out a cough. He began to say something that started like "fuck," but stopped himself. Smart move. Sylvain was not above using the same joke multiple times. A shake of his head later, Felix said, "You're an idiot."

"Can't dispute that," Sylvain agreed, reaching over to fiddle with the radio. He managed to catch something that may have been a talk show. A serious sounding man was speaking, but between the static and the crackling, Sylvain couldn't tell what topic it was on. For all he knew, this could be one of those alien conspiracy stations and the man was talking about secret government facilities in the desert. Admittedly, Sylvain would listen to that, if only for the amusement.

"You're not going to get any reception here," Felix grumbled.

Sylvain shrugged, "Might stick with this guy. Hey - what do you think the odds are that he's a conspiracy theorist?"

"Low."

"Okay, but how low?"

"Why?" Felix asked.

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Sylvain said, "I'm bored. And since you aren't asleep..."

Felix raised his eyebrows, turned to the side, and said, "Great. I'm going back to sleep, then." There was something about the dry tone of his voice that reminded Sylvain of Miklan - not Miklan the last time he'd seen him, but the Miklan who hadn't yet discovered bad company and rage. Sylvain used to bother him too, since unlike their parents, Miklan could be convinced to pay attention when pestered enough. Sometimes that attention was even the good sort - the kind where he'd play baseball with Sylvain out back or sneak them both snacks from the kitchen. Other times, it meant both of them ended up with bruises they hid from their parents.

And suddenly Sylvain felt more than a little carsick. He needed to stop thinking about his stupid brother. He should have gone to Texas - he'd never been to Texas, he didn't have memories there. There the only unwanted thoughts that could be chasing him were that of his unanswered phone.

And as if god or karma was listening in on his thoughts, the phone wrang. Both he and Felix jerked this time as Sylvain's ringtone blasted out the chorus to '...Baby One More Time.' So, Dorothea. He knew he shouldn't have charged that damn thing.

"You want me to--" Felix started.

"Don't," Sylvain said, ignoring the view in his peripheral vision. He didn't want to see Felix's expression then, even if he had no reason to care if Felix was judging him. "We need some tunes, and I know you don't like pop music, but how can you dislike Britney?"

The chorus ended and repeated again and again and again. There was no response from Felix, even after the phone went silent. So, Sylvain actually chanced a glance over. He shouldn't have because there was something worse than judgement on Felix's face - understanding.

"I get so many spam calls these days. I told you I should have left that thing off."

The line of Felix's lips grew thinner.

"Actually, mind shutting it off for me," Sylvain continued. "If it runs out of battery and I get a flat or something, it'd be pretty shitty."

"Whatever," Felix said, but there was the rustle of fabric as Felix reached into Sylvain's backpack and retrieved the cell. "You..." Felix started, but then trailed off.

"I'm what? Devilishly handsome? Superbly charming? Genuinely generous?"

"...are shit at lying." Felix finished, shutting Sylvain up.

**Wednesday, June 21st, 2004, 2:57 pm - Rocky Mountain National Park**

The park ranger had the most stunning smile Sylvain had ever seen - it was lopsided and toothy and made the dimples on his cheeks stand out and his hazel eyes glitter. His hair was great too - curled and dark brown with a tiny braid hanging in front of his face. It was the braid that made Sylvain take note at first, but the smile was what kept Sylvain looking even when he knew that looking too long was a bad idea.

"Need help?" the ranger - Khalid, according to the name tag, asked, still smiling.

Sylvain smiled back, flashing his LA-perfect teeth. He tilted his chin towards the rack of brochures and maps sitting by the cash register. "Mostly, I just need a map and snacks." Briefly, he looked to Felix, who was scanning the various selections of trail mix with a scrutiny one would normally reserve for vintage wine. "But, if you're not too busy, I could also use some trail suggestions."

Smile spreading wider, Khalid plucked out a map and spread it out on the counter. "I could offer you some - it's been a slow day," he said, looking up at Sylvain through long lashes.

"I'd appreciate that." Sylvain folded his arms on top of the counter and leaned over like he and Khalid were co-conspirators in some unholy scheme.

Chuckling, Khalid traced idle fingers over rivers and roads. "I should ask - you been here before?"

"Not since I was a kid," Sylvain said. "Can barely remember it." That was not completely true. He remembered the trees, remembered the mosquitoes and his mom grabbing both him and Miklan by the collars before they could race into a lake that was not meant for swimming. It could have been this visitor's center where they'd gotten directions. But Sylvain hadn't paid enough attention to the trails they'd went on to recall the names.

Khalid nodded, features scrunching in a mock-contemplative expression. "Experienced hiker, then?"

"You could call me experienced," Sylvain said, "but I don't know about hiker."

Khalid blinked once, twice, and then let out something between a snort and a laugh. His eyes were bright and the dimples on his cheeks became even more pronounced. For half-a-second, Sylvain wondered what it would be like to drop out of school and live in the mountains.

With a shake of his head, Khalid let the echoes of his chuckles fade away. "Well, for someone who is experienced, but maybe not a hiker, I might direct you to Emerald Lake. The view's amazing, you pass a few other lakes along the way and it's not too steep." He tapped the aforementioned lake on the map.

Sylvain pinched his chin between his fingers in the pretense of consideration. He was tempted to ask Khalid for more options, if only to keep chatting. But, his eyes flickered to where Felix stood, now reading the label on a packet of trail mix - he'd be done soon. "I'm sold."

"Experienced and easy." Khalid grinned. "Path down's pretty easy, too. Just get on Bear Lake Road and keep driving until you hit Bear Lake - it'll take about half-an-hour, but promise the drive's worth it." His fingers traced from the visitor's center, down the road. "Then you take the Bear Lake trail, make a right when it branches off and it's a straight shot. You'll pass Nymph and Dream Lake along the way - so, try not to get seduced."

"By nymphs or by dreams?"

"Both, if you can help it, Smart Guy." Khalid looked down to Sylvain's UCLA sweatshirt, and with that Sylvain's warm, bubbly feelings curdled. Khalid kept grinning. "You have a name, by the way?"

Sylvain kept grinning as well. "Sylvain." And in defiance, or maybe in compliance, with the churning in his gut, Sylvain opened his mouth to offer Khalid a number, when behind him there was a cough. Turning, Sylvain saw Felix, arms crossed, mouth in a thin line, arms full of trail mix and water bottles.

When they exited the visitor's center, the gust of cold wind that greeted them made Sylvain flinch. He'd just about gotten used to the oppressive summer heat, but the seasons worked differently up here in the mountains. He'd been lucky that his UCLA sweatshirt had been in his trunk. Well, 'his' on the technicality that he owned it. Ingrid's, in practicality, because he'd kept it there for her and her refusal to bring extra layers when they went out.

Stretching, Sylvain tried to keep the cold from creeping into his bones and glanced at Felix who had a more chilling glare than even the wind. "What?" Sylvain asked.

"Nothing," Felix said.

"Oh come on, that glare's not nothing," Sylvain said and Felix glared harder. "Did it bother you that--" Sylvain began to say and cut himself off and tried again, "That... Khalid..."

"What?" Felix cut in, his defensive glare turning into a baffled one. "No. I don't care that you're gay."

"I'm not gay," Sylvain said too fast, but it wasn't a lie. He wasn't gay.

Felix returned an unconvinced look. Then he shook his head and sighed, "Pass me your backpack. This shit's heavy."

**Wednesday, June 21st, 2004, 3:51 pm - Rocky Mountain National Park**

After arriving at the end of Bear Lake Road, Sylvain wordlessly tossed Felix a water bottle, and they made their way into the forest. The path ahead was neatly cleared out, with wooden railing splitting it away from the trees. Easy to consume nature, even if the trail began to blend in more further down.

Sylvain took the lead as they walked single-file to make room for the hikers trickling by them in the other direction. As usual, Felix didn't say much, and only the occasional glance backwards told Sylvain that he was neither imagined nor had disappeared.

Sylvain should have been paying attention to their surroundings, which were admittedly stunning - narrow shadowed paths that opened up into brightly glittering lakes, hidden from behind by mountains - but the ever present thrum of his thoughts refused to shut the fuck up. And after deciding to take a brief moment to let Sylvain flirt unbothered, they were back in full force, critiquing Sylvain for the very flirtation they had not stopped him from.

It meant nothing. It wasn't like Sylvain didn't flirt with almost anything that breathed - and on one unfortunate and very drunk occasion, something that hadn't been breathing. But it was one thing when no one would remember and another when there was Felix. Felix who didn't care. Had been upset by something, but not that. Not...

Sylvain sighed and shook his head. There were nice trees here. Not too many bugs. The breeze was pleasant. He used to love hiking at one point. Or rather, at one point, hiking meant his father might affectionately ruffle his hair, his mother might smile while wiping a smudge of dirt off his cheek and Miklan might not seem so incomprehensibly angry. It'd been nice then. It hadn't been bad earlier, hungover and watching the sunset. Now, it was trees and beautiful sights and Sylvain couldn't (wouldn't) say what more he wanted.

"Do you even like hiking?" Felix's voice cut in, as if he'd been reading Sylvain's mind.

Sylvain turned back to look at Felix. "Getting away's pretty nice - why do you ask?"

"Because you're the one who wanted to come here." He sounded pissed, like always, but Felix met Sylvain's eyes, and Sylvain could almost swear there was something like concern there.

"I didn't say I wanted to leave," Sylvain pointed out. "We could turn back, if you want, though."

"Tch. I wasn't saying that." Felix crossed his arms and looked off to the side. The concern, however, now bled into the furrow of his brows.

 _Are you worried about me,_ Sylvain nearly snapped, but didn't. Running a hand through his hair, Sylvain followed Felix's gaze towards Dream Lake. "Come on, let's have a snack. I want to see if all that agonizing over trail mix was worth it."

"I was not agonizing," Felix huffed, but followed Sylvain as he made his way to the lakeshore.

"Uh-huh. Right. You were just taking a really long time to read the ingredients list. Which, I bet is five items long?"

"Ten," Felix said, and then turned pink when a slow smirk spread across Sylvain's face. Letting out a puff of breath, Felix plopped himself cross legged on the ground, opened his water bottle and took a long gulp.

Sylvain did the same, though he found a nice, semi-clean rock to sit on instead. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the trail mix. The back of the packet indeed had ten ingredients - a few kinds of nuts, some dried fruit, preservatives, everything one would expect. He passed one bag to Felix, then pulled another out for himself.

"Thanks," Felix said, opening the packet. He ate a few handfuls of the mix before he, without so much as looking up or frowning or even shifting the gravity in his voice, said, "I'm gay, so why would I give a shit if you are?"

"Ah," Sylvain said. "But, I'm still not gay."

"Okay," Felix said, munching on nuts.

When they eventually got up, after staring out over the water in silence, long past the time it had taken them to finish their snacks, Felix looked the same as he always had to Sylvain - small and angry and closed off. He'd come out for Sylvain's benefit, that was obvious. Sylvain wanted to resent him for the needless kindness, for the vulnerability, for not just ignoring Sylvain's distress, but he couldn't bring himself too. Instead, as he stood, he reached over to ruffle Felix's hair. Felix instantly batted Sylvain's hand away and Sylvain smiled.

**Wednesday, June 21st, 2004, 10:16 pm - The Stanley Hotel, Estes Park, Colorado**

There were many hotels Sylvain could have chosen in Estes Park. The Stanley Hotel was neither the cheapest nor the most luxurious, and yet it was this massive manor that Sylvain had decided on without consideration. He knew why - it was the same 'why' as the Rockies. The remnants of familiarity mixed with a slight desire to show off.

 _This hotel has history, though you all probably already knew that,_ the tour guide on the night tour had told them. It'd once briefly housed Steven King. 'The Shining' was inspired by this place, so watch out for ghosts. It was pretty corny, but Sylvain thought both the guide and her stories were cute. Felix, however, seemed unimpressed. He'd only raised his eyebrows when Sylvain mentioned they'd be staying here tonight and did not blink at the elegant hardwood interior. Somehow, it was disappointing. And after their tour and dinner, after Felix once more finished an inordinately long shower and came out fully dressed, Sylvain said, "So, you come here often," while laying down on his stomach, legs crossed behind him, chin propped in his hands.

Felix folded his arms. "Yeah, I was just here last week," he said, voice flat.

"Ah, that explains it," Sylvain beamed like he actually believed Felix. "And here I was thinking I'd impress you after all the shitty places we've been staying at."

Shrugging, Felix went to sit down on his own bed. He lay back onto a pillow, seemingly oblivious to the way his hair left wet stains on it. "I've stayed at better places." His tone didn't change, so it was difficult to tell if he was still joking.

"Yeah?"

"This one's overpriced."

"It could be a lot worse. I've stayed in rooms three times the cost of this one, and they didn't come with ghosts."

Felix snorted. "I didn't know we were hunting for ghosts."

Pressing a hand to his cheek in mock offense, Sylvain said, "We come to a haunted hotel and you expect us not to go looking for ghosts."

"I thought we were going to watch 'Legally Blonde' or whatever."

Sylvain hadn't actually expected Felix to remember that. He tapped his chin. "Well, we can't go ghost hunting until after midnight. Everyone knows ghosts don't show up until then. Might as well watch a movie while we wait."

Propping himself up again, Felix gave Sylvain a once over. "I can't tell if you're joking or not."

"You can't?" He grinned and rather than clarifying his position, Sylvain reached over and grabbed the remote. It turned out the hotel did offer 'Legally Blonde' on pay-per-view, so the slightly ridiculous price they'd paid for the room was definitely worth it. "Toss me some trail mix, would you?"

"Your backpack is closer to you."

"Yeah, grab it and come sit here. Better view of the TV."

It wasn't - the giant TV was right between the two queen sized beds, but Felix didn't protest. He stood, grabbed the backpack, and then rather than fetching out the trail mix, dumped it right in front of Sylvain's face. It hit Sylvain's nose.

"Ouch!"

"You had it coming," Felix said.

The best song from Chicago played itself in Sylvain's head, and on impulse he sing-songed, "I had it coming all along?"

"If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I bet you would have done the same," Felix said, face as straight as ever, and then deposited himself down next to Sylvain.

Snickering, Sylvain scooched over to give Felix more room. "So there is a musical you like!"

"Yeah, because it's _good_."

With another snicker, Sylvain flipped on the movie. He'd seen it nearly a hundred times since Ingrid had bought a copy of the DVD. They could both recite the entire script from memory by now. When they watched it together, Sylvain loved putting on his best valley girl impression and taking on Elle's lines. There was something freeing about it. When Elle came into the courtroom, wearing hot pink and confidence, Sylvain always felt a flutter of envy. It was ridiculous, She wasn't a real person, and yet, Sylvain couldn't help but want to be her. Not that he'd admitted that to Ingrid, let alone to anybody else.

But, since it was Felix's first time watching this, Sylvain opted not to add his own voice over. Instead, he mouthed some of his favorite lines and occasionally peaked over to watch Felix's face. At first, Felix looked like any teenage boy when presented with something pink - baffled and offended - but as the movie played, Sylvain could see the reluctant enjoyment in the relaxing of Felix's shoulders and the amused quirk of his brows. By the courtroom scene, Felix was leaning forward, eyes intent and then widening when Elle landed her killing blow. A satisfied smile settled on Felix's lips, not-quite softening his sharp features, and yet adding approachability nonetheless. He was handsome, Sylvain realized.

After the movie ended, Sylvain let the credits finish rolling before saying, "So, looks like it's after midnight."

Felix shook his head, "Ghosts. Really."

Sylvain shifted. "I don't want to sleep yet and I don't know a movie that could follow up the masterpiece that is Legally Blonde."

"And because you don't want to sleep, we're going to annoy the hotel staff."

"That makes me sound like an asshole," Sylvain said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't get me wrong, I am one, but there are levels of assholishness and I feel I'm more charmingly impish than irredeemably shitty."

Felix rolled his eyes, then looked back to Sylvain. His lips pinched into a tiny frown, and something like calculation passed across his face. Taking a deep breath, Felix asked, "So, where are we going?"

"Tomorrow?" Sylvain blinked.

"In general."

Sylvain hesitated - he wasn't sure if he was more startled by the asking or by the fact that Felix had said _we_. It could have been a slip of the tongue, likely was, they hadn't made any formal commitments. Sylvain was shit at commitment anyhow. But, still. Huh. "Well... DC's the plan," he admitted, looking down to the elaborately patterned blanket.

Felix nodded. "We can hang out by the stairs - there might be a ghost."

The stairs by the lobby were pretty classic spooky-old-house fare. Or, old-school-rich-person fare. They were wide and wooden and decorated with a classically patterned rug, much like the grand stairs in the homes of his father's DC friends - the old rich who not-so-subtly thought themselves above the relatively upstart Gautiers. As a young teenager, Sylvain was pretty sure their homes were haunted. As an adult, he knew they were.

"I have been to better hotels," Felix said, maybe an hour or two after they'd been sitting at the bottom of the stairs. "But, I guess I can admit the ghosts aren't bad." They'd heard five unexplainable noises, or noises they'd chosen to call unexplainable for the sake of mystery.

"The ghosts are pretty great." Sylvain paused. "But, better hotels?" Maybe Felix hadn't been joking earlier.

"My dad's kind of a snob," Felix said.

"Ah - so's mine."

**Thursday, June 22nd, 2004, 7:38 pm - Hall County, Nebraska**

Four hours into the drive out of Estes, the radio came to a crackling stop. The country music that'd been playing didn't so much turn to static as disappear in a pop, along with the inaccurately displayed time. Both Sylvain and Felix gave it and then each other a brief look.

"Well, there goes our music," Sylvain sighed.

"Great."

An hour later, Sylvain found a way to rope Felix into a game of I Spy, though the challenge of finding something new in the monotonous landscape of cornfields and farmland had grown near insurmountable after the first fifteen minutes. So, Sylvain changed the rules.

His first break from tradition had been, "I spy something beginning with a U."

After Felix named basically everything in sight, including 'broken radio,' 'pick-up truck,' and 'you, you impossible asshole,' Sylvain had taken pity and responded, "A UFO."

The look Felix had given him screamed 'I will strangle you and leave your corpse for the coyotes that definitely do not reside in this state,' and Sylvain responded with his most angelic smile. "Your turn."

"Something beginning with an I," Felix snapped.

It only took Sylvain three guesses to figure out what Felix meant. "Idiot. Wow, Felix, I didn't know you could see yourself in the rearview mirror."

It was probably for the best that the backpack and snacks were sitting in the backseat of the car. Still, the game instantly became more interesting. Sylvain's list contained wonders such as; Nessy, Bigfoot, the Jersey Devil, Mothman, the Men in Black, and Mark from Rent.

Felix at first stuck to insults and curse words, but after his impressive vocabulary of them ran dry, he began to list musical instruments and composers.

"Harpsichord," Sylvain guessed and Felix shook his head. "Dang, I thought I had it. Hey - do you play an instrument?"

There was silence, and for a moment, Sylvain wondered if he'd overstepped. He hadn't actually asked Felix much of anything about himself and what little he knew painted a fairly incomplete picture: Felix was a music snob, his dad was also a snob and Felix was gay. A popular misconception of Occam's Razor would state that Felix was likely the disowned son of a rich man, and while Sylvain was far from above making assumptions, he wasn't completely sure that was the case. He also wasn't sure if Felix wanted him to know what the case was.

"Three," Felix finally said.

"Three instruments?" Sylvain blinked.

"Piano, violin, guitar," Felix said like he was listing off groceries. "Though I'm still shit at guitar."

"Impressive," Sylvain said after a low whistle.

"Not really. My mom thought it'd be good for me, and..." Felix trailed off, shrugging. "I guess it was good for me."

Sylvain nodded, and picking up on the queue, said, "So... did you spy a harmonica?"

"Highland pipes."

"Ah! And here I thought that'd been a really loud duck."

They drifted into silence after that, watching as the sun sank low into the sky, turning the fields golden around them. They’d probably have to stop at the next town over, though Sylvain wasn't exactly sure where that'd be. Nebraska definitely had more cornfields than people, and Sylvain could understand why Mercedes had fled from the midwest to the coast.

It was maybe twenty minutes later when a sputtering sound came from the back of the car. Sylvain jolted. But, before he had a chance to process exactly what was going on, his dash lights flickered on and off.

"Oh shit. Shit." There was clanking and creaking and the steering wheel felt stiff. The breaks were not slowing the car as expected. It felt like white noise had invaded Sylvain's head and he could hear the pumping of his own heart.

"Get off the road, you idiot!" Felix yelled.

Right. It took more muscle than Sylvain had anticipated, but he managed to get the car into the shoulder of the road and it slowly came to a stop. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" He slammed a fist into the wheel. Had that really just happened? In the middle of fucking nowhere and his car was dead. When he turned the key, the engine made a screeching sound but did not start.

The world around him felt tilted on its axis. The churning in his stomach told him he might just throw up. His shoulders shook. What was he going to do now?

"Hey," Felix said.

Turning, Sylvain looked at Felix. "Hey," he managed to croak out.

"Yes, hey," Felix said again. His normally pale complexion had turned an ashen grey, and the line of his mouth was thin. But, his voice was steady when he said, "You'll probably need to get this towed, but we should look under the hood anyhow."

"You're calm about this," Sylvain said, trying to keep hysteria from bleeding into his voice.

"My brother liked cars," Felix said, as if that at all explained how much calmer Felix was than Sylvain. Then again, Daisy wasn't Felix's.

Sylvain nodded and reached down to pull the lever to pop the hood. As Sylvain did this, Felix unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car. Sylvain knew he should follow, knew he should get up, knew he should do anything other than just sit on his ass, but he always got like this. His fight or flight response seemed to be flight or freeze instead. And there was nowhere to run here, so Sylvain sat frozen.

He couldn't see what Felix was doing, though probably not much. Daisy had been on her last legs for a while, since before Sylvain got her even. She'd been an impulse buy - he'd seen her, bright orange and worn, at a used car dealership and decided that he could use a car. The dealer had warned him that she would probably not make it past a year, but still, Sylvain had bought her and she'd lasted him three. If he'd had any forethought, he would have rented a car for this trip instead.

The passenger door opened, and Felix said, "Yeah, you're going to need a mechanic. Or a new car."

"Yeah," Sylvain agreed and reached back to grab his backpack. He pulled out his phone and when he tried to turn it on, it was dead. Of course it was dead. "Phone's dead," he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

"Then we'll have to walk."

"You think there's anything nearby?" Sylvain asked.

"I don't know." Felix looked away from Sylvain and out into the distance of the empty freeway.

The sun was near set now, and they hadn't seen many cars other than trucks during their drive. Not much different from when Sylvain had met Felix. On the side of the road, not doing anything but walking. Guilt curled itself in Sylvain's chest. "Sorry," he said.

Felix turned back to face him. "For what?"

"I was supposed to get you off the freeway, wasn't I?"

Reaching out, Felix flicked Sylvain's forehead. "Don't be an idiot. It's annoying enough when you pretend to be one."

Wincing, Sylvain pulled back. He released a chuckle and shook his head. "And here I thought I had you fooled."

"Didn't I already say that you're shit at lying?"

**Thursday, June 22nd, 2004, 10:22 pm - Hall County, Nebraska**

The last dregs of daylight faded away as they walked, leaving them with a sliver of moon and more stars than Sylvain ever got to see in LA. They were nearly all that was visible - the fields stretched out into darkness and no lights illuminated the road. Perhaps it should have unnerved Sylvain further, this emptiness, the possibility that they'd walk for hours and find no one to help them, but there was a perverse sort of comfort in knowing that this would delay his arrival to DC. He could almost imagine walking like this forever. Almost.

His hand bumped against Felix's for the dozenth time that night. Had Felix felt like Sylvain felt now, when he'd first started running? Did he still feel that way now? It almost felt safe to ask in the dark, but Sylvain couldn't quite form the words. So, he said, "We don't get stars like this back in LA."

"Houston's the same," Felix responded.

"I didn't know you were a cowboy."

Felix scoffed softly. "That's Dallas. They have the Cowboys. We just have the Texans." Sylvain all but heard the eye-roll when Felix said _Texans_.

"Football?" Sylvain asked. "Didn't peg you as the type."

"Asshole." Felix elbowed Sylvain. "My brother and I watch-- watched it together."

At first Sylvain didn't understand the significance of the change in tense, only quirked an eyebrow at the stutter in Felix's words. And then it was a slowly spreading chill down his spine. Past tense. Easily attributed to the fact that Felix no longer watched football with his brother because Felix no longer lived with his brother. But then other details made themselves clear - a stiffening to Felix's spine, a stop in his steps, _my brother liked cars_ Felix had said. "Oh," Sylvain breathed, as much in realization as in response.

They were both lucky that Sylvain was good at controlling his mouth when he wanted to be. If he weren't, he'd have blurted out something stupid like _I'm sorry_. "People used to think my brother was a football player," Sylvain said instead. Miklan had looked like one too - broad and angry. He'd gotten that from their father. "But there was no way he'd ever play a team sport."

There was the crunch of shoes along dirt as Felix resumed walking. "Glenn was too skinny for football," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "But we ran out of space for his soccer trophies."

"How about you?"

A truck drove past. Its headlights made them both flinch and the zoom of its tires was almost unbearably loud after so much quiet. When it passed, Felix said, voice regaining its normal surliness, "I got kicked off the team."

Sylvain couldn't help but chuckle. "Of course you did. Did you kick someone?"

"Punched," Felix said, sounding almost proud.

Sylvain shook his head, feeling inexplicably fond. "You punch a lot of people, then?"

"No. I'm not interested in picking fights. She just deserved it."

"She?"

There was another shift in the air, another click. "She." Felix repeated, not elaborating.

Sylvain thought of Mercie, and decided that Felix didn't have to explain if he didn't want to. "You know, there's a thing called words. You can use them instead of punching people. It works a whole lot better and you don't end up with a broken nose."

Again, Felix shoved Sylvain.

**Friday, June 23rd, 2004, 1:04 am - Hall County, Nebraska**

As it turned out, they were closer to civilization than Sylvain had anticipated. A few hours of walking and there was a freeway exit, and right off it, a small hotel. The desk attendant let them use the phone to call a tow truck, and tomorrow they'd be heading to the next town over to see if Daisy could make a come-back. It should have made the tightness in Sylvain's chest release, but he still felt like he was standing on a ledge. But, what else was new?

Felix, on the other hand, seemed unphased until they were told that the only room available had only one bed. Then, all the blood drained from his face, as if possibly sharing a bed with Sylvain (again) was somehow worse than being stranded on the side of the road. It was kind of funny how Felix's priorities seemed to be so oddly aligned.

"That's fine," Sylvain told the desk attendant, and then ushered Felix along to their room. "I can take the floor. Or the bathtub - it's not a bad place to sleep. Last time I did it, my back was only a bit sore in the morning."

"Don't be stupid," Felix said, cheeks darkening.

"Look, I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Sylvain said, too tired to hedge.

"I know." Felix let out a sigh. "And I'm telling you, it's fine."

"You didn't seem too happy about a moment ago," Sylvain shrugged.

Felix took off his shoes, set them by the door, then sat down at the edge of the bed. "I'm not happy, but I don't know what stupid idea lodged itself in your head and made you think that's your responsibility."

It was Sylvain's turn to blush then, a bizarrely unfamiliar sensation of his face growing hot. Sylvain had spent his entire life bending and adjusting to people, first to avoid the blows and then out of pure instinct. Cowardice. Ease. He knew he did it, he just wasn't used to anyone else knowing. For once, he wasn't quite sure what to say, so he just shrugged again.

Letting out a long breath, Felix said, "Turn off the lights and take off your shoes. Tomorrow's going to be annoying."

Sylvain did so, pausing to plug in his phone on the way. He was not looking forward to the likely flood of missed messages he'd see in the morning, but he could deal with that then. And when he lay down, the sheets smelled fresh and the mattress was soft. Better than a bathtub, not that it helped him sleep much.

He stayed up, staring at the wall, trying to find anything to still his mind. It was only when Felix's breathing started to come slow and even with sleep that Sylvain found something easy to focus on. He finally drifted off listening to the sound.

**Friday, June 23rd, 2004, 11:12 am - Grand Island, Nebraska**

"Honestly, I'd recommend getting a new car if you can afford it," the mechanic said, looking Sylvain up and down. Even rumpled from sleep and without his expensive hair gel and cologne, Sylvain knew he looked like he could afford it. He could see the assumption in the mechanic's eyes, read the familiar line of judgement. He saw that look from Dorothea from time to time, aimed at both him and Ingrid.

It'd been that look that caused the only fight that had mattered for Dorothea and Ingrid - 'when are you going to stop pretending to slum it with us.' In the end, there'd been no real mending of the rift, just the acknowledgement that Sylvain and Ingrid had a choice that Dorothea and Mercedes never would.

"Yeah, but I'm kind of attached," Sylvain shrugged. "Think you could get her running again anyhow?"

The mechanic sighed, "Yeah. You're lucky, it was just the belts this time. You're looking at around one-fifty."

"How about the radio?"

"We don't got one on hand for you, and we can order one or you can see if there's one that fits at Walmart..." the mechanic trailed off, clearly anticipating Sylvain's response.

Sylvain nodded. "Just the belts is fine. You have a time estimate?"

"A couple hours, give or take."

Which was how Sylvain and Felix ended up sitting in the Starbucks across the street, Sylvain's cell laying face-up on the table next to them, and a pair of ice coffees between them. It was weird how not-weird it felt, how it felt like they'd been driving together for years rather than a handful of days. But then, Felix seemed to be able to read Sylvain in ways that only those who'd known him for years could. And that'd be weird too, if Sylvain wasn't starting to suspect that the only reason most couldn't read him was not because he was so inscrutable, but because most didn't bother trying. Maybe Sylvain's best defense was not his ability to lie, but rather his ability to make others not give a damn about him.

The phone began to vibrate. Both Felix and Sylvain jumped at the sound, before Sylvain grabbed it off the table. And because he was tired, he didn't check the caller ID.

"Hey, how's the car looking?" he asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't know, I haven't seen her in a week or so now," said an all too familiar, all too sweet voice.

"Mercie!" Sylvain said, voice coming out strangled.

There was a soft chuckle over the line. "I'm glad to hear from you." And only Mercie could pack so much relief and hurt into a voice that sounded as sweet as the chorus of angels.

Sylvain laughed too, though it sounded broken and cracked, even to his own ears. He avoided looking at Felix, not wanting to see how he was interpreting this. "Missed my immeasurable charm, did you?"

"I did," Mercie said. "It was very quiet at dinner without you."

"Really? And here I would have thought Dorothea would have loved the chance to--"

"Sylvain," Mercie cut him off. "I'm not angry that you didn't come to dinner."

A lump was forming itself in Sylvain's throat. "I know, how could anyone ever be angry with me?"

"I'm not truly angry with you at all. Neither are Ingrid and Dorothea," Mercie said and it was like a blade digging itself into Sylvain's chest and slicing down, spilling his innards to the ground.

"I know."

"Why do you want us to be angry with you?" And there Mercie was again, picking up his spilled guts, looking them over, and knowing exactly what to label each bit of the bloodied mess. Sometimes, Sylvain wished he knew how to make her stop giving a damn about him.

"Dunno," he said, somehow managing to keep himself from screaming or sobbing. He was pretty sure Mercie heard that anyhow.

She sighed. "Well, that's okay. When you do know, you can tell me. I just wanted to make sure you'd be alive to tell me, someday."

And if Sylvain hadn't spent his entire life biting back tears, he may have cried then. Instead, he said, "I'll call you when I get to DC. I'm too sexy to off myself. Tell Dorothea and Ingrid that." He hesitated, then added, "Tell them that I'm sorry, too."

Mercie let out an agreeable hum. "Okay. I'll tell Dorothea that she doesn't need to send a hit squad after you."

After he hung up, it took him a moment before he was able to look to Felix. Felix, who still sat sipping on his coffee, looking entirely unsurprised. He raised his eyebrows at Sylvain.

"It wasn't the mechanic."

"I couldn't tell at all."

**Friday, June 23rd, 2004, 12:07 pm - Grand Island, Nebraska**

After paying the mechanic, Sylvain stood outside, looking at Daisy and twirling his keys in hand. Felix stood next to him, not attempting to rush them back to the car despite the heavy heat and dark clouds rolling in.

There was a storm coming, and the car breaking down should have been a warning. _Go home_ it should have said. Mercie's call should have said. But, Sylvain said, "I'm not ready to get to DC yet."

And Felix replied, "Then where next?" as slow and heavy drops began to leave dark spots on their clothing.

"Chicago?" Sylvain suggested.

"Okay," Felix said and he waited with Sylvain, until the rain began to pour. Then he grabbed Sylvain's arm and all but dragged him to the car. "We can sit in here, asshole."

**Friday, June 23rd, 2004, 10:23 pm - Chicago, Illinois**

The trip to Chicago was this: A silent car and the patter of rain outside the window, windshield wipers sweeping away storms and roads so obscured that Sylvain actually drove below the speed limit. It was this, until Felix, and Sylvain didn't really understand that part at first, tried to make small talk in a halting, awkward sort of way. Sylvain only made one remark about hypocrisy, and only one, because he realized that watching someone approach a breakdown twice in under twenty-four hours would be a lot to bear for anyone.

When the storm cleared, and they stopped for dinner at McDonalds, Sylvain told Felix thank-you, and then tugged on Felix's stupid ponytail so that neither of them could dwell on the sincerity in Sylvain's voice.

They were still worn out and exhausted when they reached Chicago, but they both had their own beds and for once, Sylvain wasn't plagued by insomnia. He went to sleep and dreamed of water wearing away stone.

**Saturday, June 24th, 2004, 2:51 pm - Chicago, Illinois**

He'd been maybe ten, maybe twelve the last time he’d visited an aquarium. The memories were as vague and murky as the place itself had been - dark and full of alien-shaped fish. It'd been for school, Sylvain remembered that much, and he remembered Ingrid there. Though she might not actually have been around. They'd been friends for so long, she sometimes appeared in memories that she had no place being in. But, regardless, he remembered trying to whisper made-up tales into her ears as the teachers ushered them along. No time to linger, this was an educational experience, after all.

It was different now with Felix. They'd been lingering in places all morning - art museums, cafes, and the one random business lobby they'd hung out in until the security guard asked if they had business there - and it was no different in this space. Felix gave quiet huffs of affirmation or skeptical brow furrows as Sylvain narrated absurd tales of how these odd creatures wound up on earth. It was a bit like when Ingrid humoured him, and Sylvain couldn't help but think that she and Felix would either be the best of friends or murder each other.

Not that Felix was ever meeting Ingrid, of course.

Still, Sylvain was grateful for the allowance of indulgence, grateful that Felix did not question, grateful in general. They stopped at the gift shop at the end, and Sylvain chose to goof around, playing with the various nicknacks to prolong their stay. Felix was red faced but made no protests. In return, Sylvain bought Felix the shark tooth hoodie that Felix had not so subtly been eyeing the entire time and Felix only raised a token protest to the gift, which was a win for them both.

They exited slowly, Felix lightly swinging his gift bag, and Sylvain occasionally walking backwards - ostensibly to look Felix in the face while talking, but actually because he didn't want to look forward. He should have known it was a bad idea, not only because the aquarium was on top of a flight of stairs, but because it was a Saturday and thus there were energetic kids running around, barely contained in the grips of their concerned parents. It really shouldn't have been a surprise that Sylvain found himself stumbling over something, as someone yelled and Felix grabbed his arm to keep Sylvain from falling over. "Whoa!" Sylvain gasped as another, older, angrier, voice simultaneously yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sylvain was bumped forward into Felix by someone running behind him, and it was only Felix's surprising strength that kept them both upright.

When Sylvain turned around to see what was actually going on, there was an angry man clutching a small boy in his arms. "You could have seriously injured my son, do you realize that?" The man spat as the boy whimpered.

Despite having more than a few inches on this man, Sylvain felt small and stupid. He didn't hunch, but nor could he manage the normal disarming self-depreciation he used to escape sticky situations. Sylvain was mostly a danger to the hearts of young women and not tiny toddlers. "Sorry, I... sorry," he managed.

The man inhaled, but the boy in his arms whimpered again. "Daddy," the boy said. "You're scary."

Rather than continuing his lecture, the man blinked and looked down at his son. While tension remained in his shoulders, the lines on his face softened. "Ah, am I?" He asked the boy. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be scary, I was just worried." He spared one last look at Sylvain, the sort that said _scram_ before going back to comforting the boy.

Not hesitating for a second, Sylvain grabbed Felix by the wrist and strode away. About three steps away from the father and son, Felix yanked his wrist away. "You're an idiot," Felix grumbled.

"Yeah," Sylvain agreed, guilt and inexplicable envy mingling in the pit of his stomach. "That was really, really, really stupid of me."

Felix groaned. "It was. Don't do it again."

"Obviously," Sylvain agreed. He ran a hand through his hair. "And here we were having such a nice day."

"...Are you really going to be dramatic about this?" Felix wrinkled his nose.

"No! I'm not dramatic," Sylvain said, though Felix looked no more convinced than Sylvain felt. And okay, Sylvain was the one taking an impromptu road trip for no apparent reason other than feeling a little blue lately. But, no one had genuinely called Sylvain dramatic in years. His father had once, and only once, called Sylvain a drama queen. Sylvain couldn't even recall why now, but he could recall the tone, the disdain and disgust that told Sylvain that this was not something he was allowed. If he'd told his father that he was scared then, Sylvain was certain the response would not have been an apology.

"Whatever," Felix said. "Weren't we getting lunch after this?"

Sylvain latched onto that like a life raft. "Yeah - want to grab a hot dog or something? I think there was a stand a few blocks back." He didn't mention that there was also one near the aquarium and neither did Felix.

**Saturday, June 24th, 2004, 3:38 pm - Chicago, Illinois**

"What even is that?" Felix said, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

Sylvain squinted up at a giant, red sculpture, made of lumpy arcs and shrugged. "Modern art?" It stood in the center of the first plaza they'd passed after grabbing hot dogs, an incomprehensible beacon.

"Hm," Felix sat down on one of the metal benches bordering the plaza. "It's more impressive than the shit back at that Contemporary Art Museum."

After retrieving a pair of water bottles, Sylvain sat down next to Felix. "You say that like you didn't enjoy it," he said, passing a bottle over.

Felix screwed off the cap and gulped it down, trails of water joining the sheen of sweat glistening on his face. "I didn't."

"Oh don't be like that, you liked that one exhibit with the paper cut outs."

"That was an exception," Felix rolled his eyes. "It had a point." He took another gulp of water before screwing the cap back on.

Sylvain shrugged, "You also liked the photography." It was an understatement - Felix had been completely still, eyes bright, as he scanned black and white bodies so magnified that they no longer looked like parts of a human.

Felix scoffed, but he didn't protest. He just leaned back in his seat, looking up at the clear blue sky. There was a soft breeze blowing by and the weather, despite all odds, was pleasantly warm rather than blazing hot. They'd been walking all day, and for the first time, Sylvain wondered if maybe Felix was feeling tired. Sylvain had almost stopped noticing his own exhaustion, it was so ever present he forgot what it felt like not to be tired. But, Felix was most likely not the same.

Opening his mouth, Sylvain was about to say something, or maybe ask something, when Felix's gaze shifted to the left and a small frown settled on his lips. Confused, Sylvain followed the gaze to where an elderly couple was bickering.

A woman held a map and was pointing to a spot, and a man had his arms folded. He responded in what Sylvain was pretty sure was Chinese, which Sylvain didn't understand, and a frustrated tone which Sylvain did. "You think they're lost?" Sylvain asked, not quite sure what had caught Felix's attention.

"They are," Felix shifted, sitting up. "They were supposed to meet their son at the aquarium, but..."

For a brief moment, Sylvain's memory flashed to the angry father, but that seemed like too much of a coincidence. "They're not too far off," Sylvain said instead of the nonsense in his head.

Felix nodded. He sat up straighter, looking between Sylvain and the couple once more. The woman began to sound even more frustrated, gesturing to the left while the man shook his head and pointed right. The argument was going from audible to loud, and Sylvain considered suggesting that they move. Felix stood up.

For a moment, it seemed like Felix was just taking the initiative and getting out of there, but then Felix began to approach the couple. Sylvain watched in mild awe as aggressiveness faded from Felix's posture. Sylvain's jaw might have dropped a little when Felix began speaking in an unmistakably polite tone. And here Sylvain had thought Felix only capable of gruff deference.

But the old woman blinked, before she stopped yelling and then smiled warmly at Felix. The old man also paused, folding his arms, but seeming more stern than offended. Ducking his head slightly, Felix began what Sylvain assumed was an explanation and pointed to the left. And while Sylvain still couldn't understand the words, he did understand the universal _I told you so_ look on the woman's face. He also understood the stubborn resignation on the man's.

That should have been it, but Felix didn't immediately leave. He stayed, while the woman chatted at him, possibly asking questions or possibly just extremely grateful. But, whatever it was she was doing, it left Felix a little pink and somehow still polite. There was something kind of cute about it. The corners of Sylvain's lips twitched as he watched the entire exchange play out and pulled all the way into a grin when, after the couple departed, Felix stayed, looking on after them.

Snickering, Sylvain decided to go fetch him. "I didn't know you could be polite," he teased as he walked up to Felix and clapped a hand down on his shoulder.

Felix turned, glared and all the aggressiveness was right back in his posture. "I'm not you."

"Hey! I'm very polite," Sylvain protested. "Just not a boy scout who helps little old ladies with directions."

"I'm not a boy scout," Felix glared, cheeks now bright, bright red. "They needed help and I'm not an asshole."

"I dunno, seems pretty boy-scouty to let an old lady fawn over you like that."

"She wasn't fawning. She was just," Felix wrinkled his nose, "impressed." At this point, even Felix's ears were red. Sylvain was tempted to reach out and tug on one, but he was pretty sure that would be crossing a line.

"Impressed?"

Felix looked off to the bench they'd been sitting on. "Apparently, my Chinese is good... for an American."

That didn't sound like a compliment to Sylvain, but he also didn't have much context. The only language outside of English he spoke was AP French, which was great for college credits and not much else. "I didn't know you spoke Chinese," Sylvain said, lacking anything better to say.

"Why would you know that?" Felix asked, before shaking his head. "My mom wanted me to be able to talk to my grandparents."

And that was yet another casually mentioned pair of family members. "Are you close?"

"With my grandparents?"

"Them. Your mom." Sylvain shrugged.

And once more, there was the now familiar stillness to Felix. That riged stiffening that said _Caution: Boundary_.

"You don't have to--" Sylvain began.

"My mom's dead," Felix cut in. "And it's been a while since I spoke to my grandparents."

"Ah."

An inhale, and then Felix said, "And before you ask, my dad's alive." Which was not something Sylvain was going to ask. It only left more questions as to what exactly Felix was doing, though perhaps that was the line Felix was drawing here. Sylvain could know where Felix came from, he just couldn't know why Felix was here. Fair enough.

"Sometimes I wish mine wasn't," slipped from Sylvain's lips without a second thought.

And somehow, Felix seemed completely unsurprised. Or perhaps that was not quite right. Felix looked up at Sylvain with eyes that dared Sylvain to try and surprise him.

"Sometimes, I wish no one in my family was," Sylvain added.

Felix neither blinked nor flinched. "Yeah, well, you're alive," he said, as much a statement of fact as a demand.

**Saturday, June 24th, 2004, 5:42 pm - Chicago, Illinois**

On the way back to the hotel, Sylvain had Felix wait outside as he picked up a bottle of whiskey from the liquor store. It was novel to be able to use his real ID for this rather than the fake one he’d cut up on his twenty-first birthday, three weeks ago. It was less novel to share his bad habits with whoever was stuck in his vicinity, but Sylvain had never promised to be a good influence. Besides, it was Felix who had insisted Sylvain buy enough for the both of them when Sylvain had said he needed a drink.

They ended up on Sylvain's bed, passing the bottle in between long stretches of silence and aborted conversations. Outside, it was still ridiculously bright, too bright to be drinking and yet Sylvain couldn't care less as the pleasant numbness eased away the sharp edges of the past few days.

"You don't even look tipsy," Sylvain said, because it was true. Felix was leaned back, eyes hooded, legs sprawled out in front of him, relaxed rather than sloppy.

"I'm not," Felix said, holding out his hand for the bottle.

Sylvain passed it. "I am, I think."

Felix took it, took a drink and then, rather than being a good person and passing it back, set it on the bedside table.

"Hey!" Sylvain reached over Felix. But, Felix put a firm hand on Sylvain's chest and kept him in place.

"I'm not going to be sober while you get wasted."

"Then drink faster."

Felix lightly pushed Sylvain back. "No."

"And you said you weren't an asshole," Sylvain grumbled, but settled back into the pillows anyhow.

"I'm not being an asshole." Felix knocked his foot against Sylvain's knee. Maybe it was supposed to be a kick, but Felix didn't draw his foot back and Sylvain didn't complain about the warm pressure. If anything, Sylvain wanted to draw closer. The AC in the hotel room worked a little too well.

"You're being unfair," Sylvain said.

Felix snorted."Oh am I?" He didn't sound particularly offended. Picking up the bottle, he took another drink. He sipped at it like he was drinking from a crystalline glass at a dinner party, and not from a bottle of cheap booze. But that was one of those hilariously contradictory things about Felix - the guy who would get into fist fights and help little old ladies, who would get sparkle-eyed at art museums and then act like a huffy kid too cool for school, who could easily talk about dead family members and not explain why he'd abandoned the living ones.

"Eh...you're interesting, that's what you are," Sylvain said, the context of the question he was answering slipping into foggy thoughts.

"What?" Felix turned, mouth leaving the bottle and eyes narrowing in confusion.

Sylvain saw his chance then, he leaned up, grabbed Felix's wrist, pulling it, Felix and the bottle to himself. He managed a gulp before Felix jerked in alarm. A slosh of whiskey splashed onto the collar of Sylvain's shirt as his fingers slipped off of Felix.

"Hey, what the hell?" Felix demanded. He was close enough that Sylvain could smell the whiskey on his breath, see his long lashes and peeling sunburn. _Handsome_ , Sylvain thought for the second time.

Like with all of Sylvain's bad decisions, the whirlwind of Sylvain's self-criticism settled into acquiescence, and Sylvain leaned forward. Their lips brushed, Felix's parted open, but before Sylvain could think beyond _soft_ and _warm_ , there was once more a hand on Sylvain's chest, shoving him back.

Felix's eyes were wide. A sound escaped from his mouth that was most likely a wheeze. The whirlwind in Sylvain's mind came whooshing back in full force. "Shit, sorry," Sylvain gasped out.

There were a few more confused sounds coming from Felix's mouth before they settled on, "I thought you weren't gay!" as if that was the most relevant aspect of all this.

And maybe it was because Sylvain croaked out, "I'm not - I'm bi!" mouth moving faster than his brain could process. Then it caught up, and the whirlwind became a hurricane. He hadn't even been able to say the word to Mercie and yet here it was, hanging in the air. "Holy shit, I'm bi."

"You just figured that out? Now?" Felix asked, skin a splotchy mix of pale and red, eyes wide, hand clutching the bottle.

"No!" Sylvain shook his head. "No," he repeated, trying to will his heart to stop trying to beat its way free.

Felix's eyes darted up and down Sylvain, before he exhaled. Reaching back, Felix set the bottle onto the table, not looking away from Sylvain. "Okay..."

"Sorry," Sylvain said again. "That was pretty uncalled for." It took all his effort not to look away in shame. He was Felix's only _ride_. This was beyond--

"You're drunk." Felix shifted back onto the bed, settling himself out of the awkward twist Sylvain had dragged him into.

"Tipsy," Sylvain corrected. "Mildly tipsy." He normally needed a lot more alcohol before he acted this stupid.

"Whatever, just don't go having a sexuality crisis. Or any sort of crisis."

The laugh that came out of Sylvain sounded something like a drowning man choking on water. "This whole trip is me having a crisis," he said and kept laughing.

"Hey!" Felix reached out, giving Sylvain's shoulder a hard shake. "I said don't have a crisis."

Unfortunately, the dam had broken and Sylvain was definitely having a crisis. He buried his face in his hands, attempting to stifle the laughter (that might have been dry sobs), or at the very least keep Felix from having to witness it, because he definitely deserved better than to watch Sylvain actually crumble to pieces. It was annoying, because if Sylvain stepped back from the gaping cavern in his chest, he wouldn't even be able to articulate what it was that was forcing its way out of him.

So, he'd kissed Felix. So, he was bi. So, if he ever admitted as much to his father, then he'd be just as disowned as Miklan. Because if Sylvain couldn't be a political asset for his father, then what good was he? Victor León Gautier had never wanted sons, not the flesh and blood sort who did annoying things like fuck up and... and none of that was even relevant because that had always been the background radiation of Sylvain's life, so why was it eating him up now?

The hand on Sylvain's shoulder gave it one more shake, and then, let go. Felix would probably be leaving now - the room, or Sylvain. Though, maybe Felix would go back to whatever family he had left. Maybe that would be for the best.

Something warm encircled Sylvain's wrists, and tugged. Tugged again, when Sylvain refused to move his hands from his face. Tugged one more time, and Sylvain gave in, to find himself once more face to face with Felix.

"Inhale," Felix said and Sylvain did, lungs flooding with air so quick that it was painful. He hadn't been breathing.

"Five," Felix said, and Sylvain noticed the quivering in Felix's voice. "Four," Felix said, and Sylvain noticed that it was Felix's hands holding his wrists. "Three," Felix said, and his hands shook. "Two." Felix's grip was so tight that his nails dug into Sylvain's skin. "One." Felix also was holding his breath. "Exhale," Felix said, and they both exhaled at the same time.

The racing in Sylvain's head stilled and Felix began counting again. Inhale. Count. Exhale. More stillness. The cycle repeated again, and again, until neither of them was shaking and Felix's grip had loosened to the barest touch.

With one final exhale, Felix said, "You're okay," and let go, scooting back and away from Sylvain.

"I'm okay," Sylvain echoed, voice raw and cracking. They sat in silence as the sky began to turn rosey. There was the occasional burst of chatter and footsteps in the hall or the honking of cars outside. At one point, cussing was audible from the streets below. At another point there was an ambulance siren. But eventually, stillness eased into boredom. Sylvain turned to look at Felix. He half expected Felix to have drifted off, but no, Felix's eyes were on him, sharp and analytical. It was a jolt of electricity. Well, shit. Sylvain let out a chuckle - not hysterical this time - and asked, "So, where'd you learn that anyhow?"

Blinking once, twice, Felix replied, "Therapy," in a steady tone that made the fact that Sylvain couldn't kiss him again all the more regrettable.

**Saturday, June 24th, 2004, 10:00 pm - Chicago, Illinois**

Sylvain's stomach growled at almost precisely 10 pm. It was loud enough to be audible over the gunshots in the Matrix, and Sylvain was very glad that he'd used up all his capability for shame that day. "How do you feel about room service?"

Hitting pause, Felix looked up at Sylvain and shrugged. "It depends on what they have." It was a bit of a marvel at how casual Felix seemed after everything, and if Sylvain hadn't observed how easily Felix blushed, he'd say that the guy had an amazing poker face.

Sylvain grabbed the room service menu from the bedside table and began flipping through it. "They have waffles, which is what I'm getting. You want sausage and eggs?"

"Isn't that breakfast food?" Felix asked, but it seemed like a token protest.

"Exactly. Nothing like breakfast for dinner when you feel like shit." Which was perhaps a little too honest, but Sylvain hadn't yet been able to build his walls all the way back up. Food, though, would help speed up the process.

Snorting, Felix said, "Get me some hashbrowns on top of that."

Sylvain dialed room service, and twenty minutes later there was food and fresh towels. In the Matrix, Trinity woke Neo with a kiss, which did not make Sylvain blush at all.

It was two bites into his waffles that Sylvain blurted, "You know, I don't get why you're not pissed at me." And then he winced, because that was most certainly not something he meant to say out loud.

Felix stopped chewing on his sausage. Swallowing, he set the fork down. It gave a soft clang as it hit the plate. "For the kiss or the crisis?"

"Both?" Sylvain admitted.

Felix ran a hand through his hair, pausing to scratch the top of his head. "Do we have to talk about it?"

"Nah, it's fine. Just thinking out loud," Sylvain said. Lied. Because now that he'd asked the question, he wanted an answer. Or maybe he wanted Felix to admit that he was pissed, but that seemed like the same thing.

Picking up his fork again, Felix used it to roll the sausage across his plate. "Most people piss me off."

"Ah," Sylvain said, taking a third bite of his waffles.

Felix rolled the sausage again, letting it become coated in yolk. "But I don't mind the way you piss me off." His ears turned a faint pink. "Just don't go having another crisis."

"D'aw, Felix, does that make us friends?" Sylvain asked, exaggerating the sappiness to hide the fuzzy mix of dread and affection stewing in his gut.

Rolling his eyes, Felix lightly elbowed Sylvain, and some of the dread faded away.

**Sunday, June 25th, 2004, 2:15 pm - Lake County, Indiana**

Not long after passing through Gary, Indiana, Sylvain saw a freeway sign that said Interstate 94 to Detroit and his brain leaped to Michigan. Michigan, Miklan, and Miklan's stupid letter.

It should have been an obvious choice to stay on the Interstate 90 and keep going straight west until he hit DC. It should have been easy to forget the crumpled piece of paper sitting in his backpack. It should have been easy to not do something that would almost certainly lead to another crisis and yet Sylvain asked--

"Hey, how would you feel if I did something really, really stupid?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Sylvain saw Felix shift up right. "As long as it doesn't involve you driving off the road, I don't give a fuck," Felix said with careful apathy.

Thus Sylvain turned onto the 94.

"My brother lives in Michigan," Sylvain said, because Felix deserved some warning and a chance to demand they turn the car around.

The hum of Daisy's engine was quieter now than it'd ever been, quieter still was the car deprived of even the white noise a functional radio could provide. "Is he anything like you?" Felix asked.

"Ha," Sylvain barked out one brief, sharp laugh. Was he anything like Miklan? Did Sylvain take sharp words and judging eyes aimed at him then turn them out onto the world? Did Sylvain teeter on the edge of destruction and dream of pulling others along with him? Did Sylvain deserve every last ounce of his father's disdain? "Yeah, you could say we're a lot alike," Sylvain admitted, "But I'm a whole lot prettier."

Despite keeping his eyes straight forward, Sylvain could feel Felix frown at that.

"But, if two of me sounds like too much for you--" Sylvain started.

"If you want to see him, then see him. If you don't, then don't. I'm not the one driving."

The road ahead was mostly clear - light, Sunday traffic instead of a lunchtime rush. There were probably a few families returning from the city to their mundane lives. Sylvain was among them, in some sense. His options for detours, without turning the car around, were ever dwindling. Though he supposed he could do the Great Lakes, New York City, Philadelphia and so on. His father hadn't called yet, likely wasn't going to unless Sylvain took so long he missed the campaign events starting in August. Or maybe not, maybe Sylvain's father would be relieved that Sylvain wasn't there to take the spotlight when elections were coming up.

He chanced a brief glance at Felix, who was picking at his nails, seemingly unconcerned. And he would be, wouldn't he? It wasn't like he could expect much of Sylvain after all this. "The last time I saw my brother, he tried to kill me."

"What?" Felix yelped.

"To be fair, he was super drunk at the time. I don't know if he understood the consequences. He was lucky our father got him off me."

This was something he hadn't even told Ingrid. She knew, of course, Sylvain had dark bruises along his neck for a week after and Miklan had disappeared. But she hadn't asked Sylvain for the story. Neither had Felix, but, here Sylvain was, giving him more things he probably didn't want.

Felix's inhale echoed through the car. "If you're trying to get killed, I will murder you myself."

"Oh, no. No. I don't think he'd try that again. Apparently he's sober now. He says he's really sorry." And if Sylvain's voice cracked a little, well, twenty-one wasn't too old to blame it on puberty, was it?

"And what the hell do you want from him?"

"I was kind of hoping to figure that out when I saw him. It probably involves punching him."

"You are a complete, fucking idiot," Felix said, but he did not insist Sylvain turn the car around.

**Sunday, June 25th, 2004, 5:01 pm - Grand Rapids, Michigan**

In Sylvain's imagination, after he got to Grand Rapids, he'd immediately arrive at Miklan's place, which would be a dirty, crumbling building, and then knock on the door. Miklan, a bone-thin and worn out looking shell of his former self would stare at him with fear in his eyes.

That, of course, did not happen.

He arrived in Grand Rapids and realized he did not know where to go. After stopping at a gas station to pick up a map and digging out the letter from the bottom of his backpack, he still spent another twenty minutes driving in circles until he found the place.

Miklan did not, in fact, live in a shitty apartment complex. He lived in a (possibly rented) house ten minutes from downtown. It was a small place, with a white painted patio and brick steps. The paint was chipped, and the wooden railing on the steps creaked, but that seemed more a marker of age than ill-use. On the patio sat a plastic lawn chair with a half filled ashtray and nothing much else. Their father would sneer at this, but Sylvain could find little to judge.

When he rang the doorbell, no one responded. No one responded when he knocked either. "I don't think he's home," Sylvain sighed.

"I can see that." Felix folded his arms. "So, are we leaving or staying?"

"We came all this way, it'd be a little stupid to just leave, right?"

"No, it wouldn't." Felix said, but he sat down on the steps anyhow. If it were possible to feel more grateful for Felix, Sylvain would have. He ruffled Felix's ridiculous hair before sitting down next to him.

A few kids played in the yard across from them. A bored looking teenager sat watching the kids. She looked up at Felix and Sylvain briefly, scowled with suspicion, then looked away when Sylvain gave her a friendly wave. It was a mostly quiet neighborhood outside of that. Some people came and went, but no one too flashy-looking - a tired woman in scrubs, a man walking his dog, an old woman carrying a casserole. It was hard to imagine how Miklan, hulking and sneering, would fit in here. Did he wave to his neighbors? Help watch kids? Share casseroles? None of that fit with Sylvain's most recent memories. Some of it fit with a version of Miklan over a decade gone, the flash of the person he might have grown into instead of the shithead he had become. And even then, if the letter was true, if Miklan was trying to be better, the Miklan of now was also the Miklan of then.

So, why did Sylvain still want to see him?

**Sunday, June 25th, 2004, 7:12 pm - Grand Rapids, Michigan**

A little over two hours after Sylvain and Felix arrived at Miklan's doorstep, an old, black sedan parked behind Daisy. Both Sylvain and Felix jolted up at that, exchanging glances as a tall redhead exited the car.

Miklan didn't look much different than Sylvain remembered. He was still tall and broad, with a square jaw and a crooked nose. The changes were minor - his hair was now a mullet, he wore blue jeans rather than slacks, and there was a white scar cutting across his brow. But, there was no mistaking him for anyone else.

Sylvain felt his hands shake. "Shit," he exhaled the moment Miklan's gaze fell on him.

Miklan stopped in place, his expression freezing into the portrait of confusion. _Am I seeing a ghost_ it asked, but Sylvain couldn't quite open his mouth to say that yes, he was haunting Miklan. That yes, Miklan had actually killed him all those years ago.

A gust of hot summer air blew past. "I got your letter," Sylvain finally managed.

Miklan's jaw tightened and he gave a quick, curt nod. "You came here to talk about that?" He asked, voice sand-paper rough.

"In hindsight, I could just have written you back." Sylvain shrugged.

Miklan looked between Sylvain and Felix, possibly taking in their sweat-stained shirts, and sun-burned skin and mussed up hair, or possibly taking in none of that. "Whatever, if we're going to talk, let's do it inside. I don't want to bother the neighbors."

Sitting up straighter, Felix narrowed his eyes and glared. But, Sylvain put a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, inside'd be good. It's really hot out here - someone should invent outdoor air conditioning."

The interior of Miklan's house was much like the exterior - simple and plain. Old, likely second hand furniture, dim lighting, a kitchen counter topped with cigarette packages and not much else that gave a sign of who it was that lived here. It looked lonely, but Sylvain, of all people, couldn't feel smug about that.

"So, who's the kid?" Miklan began.

"Felix. And I'm not a kid," Felix said, arms folded over his chest and fists clenched like he was ready to spring up and fight. Sylvain wasn't sure whether to feel comforted or disconcerted that Felix seemed so ready to defend his honor.

Miklan raised his eyebrows. "What is he, your boyfriend?" There was a sneer on the word _boyfriend_. It was obviously meant as mockery and not as a serious insinuation, yet Sylvain could not bring himself to answer. He could not find the words because he both wanted to tell the truth, _he's not_ and another truth, _so what if he was?_

It was Felix's voice that cut through the lingering silence, "As if I'd date him."

Miklan's eyes flickered between them once more, and Sylvain knew that despite whatever Miklan's report cards had said, that Miklan was not an idiot. "Smart choice," Miklan told Felix.

Felix did not relax then, but Miklan walked past them to sit down on the couch. "You don't have to stand," he said.

So, Sylvain did as requested, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Mind turning on the air conditioner?" The air inside felt hot and stale. He needed a blast of something cold or some ice dumped down his back to really begin processing the situation.

"I've been trying to save on electricity," replied Miklan, but he reached out to grab a small white remote on the coffee table and the air conditioner sitting inside the window came to life.

"You could quit smoking instead." Sylvain tilted his chin towards the packs of cigarettes. "Aren't you not supposed to trade one addiction for another?"

Miklan's lips went tight and thin, the way they used to before he would go off in a rage. But, rather than begin shouting, Miklan took a long inhale. With the exhale, he said, "You didn't come here to lecture me, so do us both a favor. Out with it."

Laughter almost crawled its way out of Sylvain again, and it was only a glance at Felix and his ever-steady glare that saved them all from a bout of hysteria. "I don't forgive you," Sylvain said.

"Okay." Miklan didn't even flinch at that.

"I fucking hate you," Sylvain spat. "I hate you so much. How dare you--" Sylvain broke off to gasp, air so damn thin, "how dare you send me that fucking letter."

There was a twitch in Miklan's jaw, but he neither yelled nor avoided Sylvain's eyes. "Okay."

"Okay?" Maybe Sylvain was yelling now, and why not? If Miklan could dare look at him straight faced and clear eyed, then why shouldn't Sylvain yell? No guilt or shame Miklan could show would be enough and yet, Sylvain wanted to see it. He wanted something, at least, even rage. "Okay? Say something other than okay, damn it."

Miklan clenched and unclenched his fists. "I said everything I had to say." Yeah, Sylvain remembered that. An apology for all the wrongs that Miklan had committed, the admission that Sylvain had deserved none of his ire, the claim that Miklan was now in Alcoholics Anonymous, trying to be something other than a piece of shit. And it wasn't fair. Miklan should have had the decency to stay the same, should have been every nightmare Sylvain still had, should have not been a person at all. Or if he could do none of that, he should have let Sylvain stay ignorant.

"Why'd you send it? And don't tell me it was the program. You could have used your real name and let dad throw it out."

"You deserved an apology." Miklan let out a huff, running a hand through his stupid mullet. "You also deserved to know that dad's word ain't the end of it."

"What the fuck, Miklan?" Sylvain growled. "You don't get to act like you're my brother after you... after..."

"After I tried to strangle you?" Miklan said, voice as rough as a rockslide and as steady as the ground beneath their feet. "Yeah, maybe I don't. But I've never been a good guy, probably never will be, but I know you can be. And I know dad's not going to let you be."

"And what? Am I supposed to ditch everything and be broke and starve so I can be a 'good guy'?" There were tears prickling in the corners of Sylvain's eyes now, but he ignored them. Easier to focus on the anger.

"I don't know. I just wanted to make sure you know you got more choices than what he says. You can do what you want with that. I ain't asking for forgiveness."

"Good, because you're not getting it," Sylvain said, as Miklan's words dug their way into his bones. He knew. Or he thought he knew. He'd heard the sentiment from Ingrid, from Mercie, from Dorothea. But those three were worth something, and Sylvain was just as worthless as Miklan. Sylvain was just as worthless as Miklan. And Miklan was trying to be more.

**Monday, June 26th, 2004, 12:08 am - Grand Rapids, Michigan**

They stayed for dinner despite everything. Miklan could apparently make pasta now. There wasn't much conversation, just Felix eyeing between the two of them, Sylvain's quiet jibes at how the pasta was over-cooked and Miklan's resigned frustration.

They could have left and stayed at a hotel. Maybe they should have, but Sylvain ended up on the couch and Felix on the pull out armchair.

It was bizarre to lie there while the guy who'd once tried to kill him slept in the next room. Though there was some comfort to Sylvain's old friend, insomnia. If nothing else, it added consistency. And Sylvain wasn't the only one still up, if Felix's uneven breathing was anything to judge by.

Softly, Sylvain whispered, "You awake?"

There was the rustle of sheets, a sigh, and then Felix replied, "Yeah."

It was a marvel how normal Felix sounded, how he still hadn't seemed annoyed by all this. If it weren't so late, Sylvain might have asked him _how_. But, the considerate coward he was, Sylvain only said, "Sorry for making you deal with another crisis."

In the moonlit room, only the outline of Felix sitting up was visible. Turning to face Sylvain, Felix said, "Don't apologize."

No, Sylvain supposed, an apology wouldn't be worth much right now. He sighed. "Alright, can I thank you instead?"

"No. You don't have to feel grateful, you know that?"

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, obviously. But I do. I know you don't have many other options and here I am, dragging you into this mess."

"No, you're not." Felix's voice was so firm that Sylvain was startled into sitting. "I could go home," Felix said, voice still firm. But he pulled his knees to his chest, and the shadowed figure seemed very small. "I could," he repeated, quieter this time. "I'm just.." there was a crack in Felix's voice. He inhaled and pulled his knees closer, "I'm just too fucking chicken shit."

Outside, cicadas chirped louder than the hum of the air conditioner. "We're a little far from Texas, cowboy," Sylvain said because he didn't really know where else to poke.

"I could call my dad. He could get me a flight." If Sylvain wasn't mistaken, that was guilt bleeding into Felix's voice.

"Alright," Sylvain said.

"Alright?" Felix asked.

Sylvain sighed. "Look, I don't know if I'm stating the obvious here, but I'm kind of avoiding my dad as well. And as long as you're avoiding yours, and I'm your ride..."

"No. I already told you that you're not responsible for me. And didn't you say we were friends?" The way Felix said _friends_ didn't sound like the way most people did - a throwaway, a casual acquaintance. He sounded painfully, absurdly serious about it, and that should have been ridiculous given they'd met something like a week ago. But Felix had been Sylvain's steady ground for that week and maybe Sylvain had been something other than the only ride Felix could get.

"I asked. You never gave me an answer," Sylvain said, feeling somehow hesitant.

Felix twisted the sheets between his hands. "We're friends," he said like he was making a promise. "So don't act like I'm doing you a favor, got it?'

Blinking, Sylvain felt the corners of his lips tug up. "Yeah, I got it." If they were closer, Sylvain might have reached out and messed up Felix's hair or even pulled him into a hug. But seeing Felix's shoulders unclench was enough. Sylvain lay back down on his pillow.

He heard Felix laying down too.

"You know," Sylvain said into the dark room, a few minutes later, "Since we're friends, if you ever wanted to talk to me about something, you could."

At first, there was no answer. Only the less than even sound of Felix's breathing told Sylvain that Felix was not asleep. Then there was once more the rustle of sheets. Sylvain turned his head to see Felix laying down on his side, looking at him with an expression obscured by darkness. There was an exhale, and Felix said, "Let's get out of your brother's house first."

"Like now, or..."

"You know what I meant. Go the fuck to sleep."

"You first."

"Fine." And soon enough, there was Felix's even breathing that helped Sylvain drift off to sleep himself.

**Monday, June 26th, 2004, 1:51 pm - Grand Rapids, Michigan**

They woke up late enough that Miklan was already out of the house. A note he'd left on the coffee table told them to lock up before they left, and that was as good enough a goodbye as anything said out loud could have been. Sylvain hadn't really wanted to see Miklan's face again anyhow.

Neatly, they folded the sheets, fixed up the couch, took Daisy and drove to the nearest diner for what could probably be called lunch. They sat, two coffees growing cold, as Felix stared out the window and Sylvain fiddled with a fork between his fingers.

"I want to talk," Felix had said when they'd sat down, and hadn't said anything else other than giving the waitress his order. But that was fine. Sylvain could wait. He waited until food arrived, and until after they finished eating, and the waitress had taken their dishes, but refilled their coffee. The place was near empty, so Sylvain didn't feel too bad about hogging a table.

"DC's not far," Felix finally said, after the second time their waitress refilled their coffees.

"If we gunned it, we probably could get there by midnight, assuming traffic's not too bad."

"How long are you planning to take?" Felix asked, still looking out the window.

"I could take a day. I could take a month if you wanted to keep sightseeing," Sylvain shrugged. "I didn't take this trip to talk to my brother."

"A day," Felix said, slow and precise, "a month, and then, you're going home."

"Home's a strong word for it. Don't know if I'd really--" Felix’s glare cut Sylvain off. "Yeah, eventually, I'll get to DC," Sylvain said. "You could stay with me for a bit, but..."

"Not forever," Felix finished. "I know." His jaw was tight and his chin was tilted.

Maybe Sylvain hadn't been the only one avoiding reality.

"So, you know what's keeping me from going home." Or Felix knew enough of it, that Sylvain didn't feel he needed to spell out all the gory details. Sylvain bit down on the inside of his cheek, and then with all the casualness he could muster, asked the question he'd wanted to ask for days, "What's keeping you away from yours?"

Felix bit down on his lip, then closed his eyes. An inhale, a count of five, an exhale and then, "My brother died on New Years and my dad didn't take it well. So, I ran away."

Sylvain began to nod, but Felix shook his head.

"No, that's not it."

He opened his eyes and met Sylvain's, gaze piercing enough to read the essence of Sylvain's soul. Whatever he saw there must have been enough, because when he broke eye-contact, he continued speaking. "Felix wasn't the name my parents gave me," he said, voice steady. "I gave it to myself," he continued, less certain. "I..." Felix frowned, hands curling shut. Briefly, he met Sylvain's eyes again.

"You're trans," Sylvain offered, hoping he wasn't over-stepping.

"Yeah," Felix blinked. "You--"

"Another friend of mine is. So, you don't have to explain that to me. Uh, unless you want to, that is?"

"Fuck no," Felix half-laughed, half-choked out. "Yeah. I'm trans and my dad doesn't like it. " He exhaled and unclenched his fists. A tightness around his eyes, one Sylvain had not even noticed before because it was so ever present, softened. "He liked it even less after Glenn died. And...I ran. I ran and I kept running," he said, equal parts shame and relief.

If Sylvain were Mercedes, he would have reached out and squeezed Felix's hand, thanking him for his honesty. But, Sylvain was Sylvain. "That's a lot of running since the New Year. You put my resolution to shame."

"Fuck off," Felix said.

"Not in public." Sylvain leaned back into the plush chair. "Running's the easy part, I think."

"Yeah," Felix agreed. "It's stupid. It's not like my dad is..." Felix bit his lip, not saying _like yours_ , but Sylvain nodded anyhow.

"My dad’s a fucking idiot. When mom died, he got us therapists. Took time off work. But he was stupid about it, trying to act like he was completely fine. Did the same thing after Glenn. Except it was obvious he wasn't. And he said stupid shit, but so did I and--"

Felix's words sped up as he talked, faster and faster until he was staring wide-eyed at Sylvain, like he couldn't believe Sylvain was still listening. Then he cut off, sucked in a breath, and slumped back down against his seat.

Another breath, and Felix began again, slower and softer, "It doesn't really matter anymore. Hasn't for a while. I just," he looked at his hands, "I just don't know how to call him."

At Sylvain's feet was his backpack. It contained some clothes, a crumpled up letter, a wallet and Sylvain's cell phone, now charged.

"I have a cell phone," Sylvain said. "You could use it sometime, if you'd like." Sylvain thought of his call to Mercedes, "And calling him doesn't mean you have to go home right away."

Felix swallowed. "Yeah...Maybe."

**Monday, June 26th, 2004, 9:24 pm - Cleveland, Ohio**

"Hey Ingrid, it's Sylvain. I'm kind of glad I got your voicemail instead of you, because if I'm honest, I would have hung up and you would have been even more pissed at me than you already are. But since this is your voicemail, I can say, sorry and not feel like a complete ass that that's the best I have. I'm in Cleveland right now, just so you know. I'll be in DC tomorrow. Made a friend on this trip - his name's Felix, and you should meet him. I think you'd get along. He reminds me of you sometimes, and then I miss you.

Fuck, I'm being sappy. But, I miss you and I'm sorry, and next time I see you, I'll tell you every stupid thing I've done since I last saw you and I'll tell you everything else too. I know you'll have this massive lecture planned out for me, and if I wasn't worried about this voicemail getting cut off, I'd list all the reasons why you shouldn't lecture me. But since I can't, I'll just tell you that you're my best friend and I love you and I'll see you soon."

Sylvain closed his phone, took a breath and stepped outside to the balcony of the hotel room. Felix stood, wearing one of the t-shirts Sylvain got him and leaning against the railing. His eyes were still red-rimmed after calling his dad, but Sylvain's might have been a bit wet from leaving a message for Ingrid so he couldn't judge.

Tomorrow, they'd be in DC. Felix would stay for a bit until he felt okay going home. And then, who the fuck knew. But that was okay. Sylvain wouldn't be staying in DC forever either.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic - it’s been in the works more or less since December and I’m glad its finally out there. A lot of it comes from a super personal place, and in a way, it’s me telling myself of six years ago that things will be okay, even if they don’t always feel that way. I hope that it leaves you with that too. For those who need to hear it - I promise that you are more than the ghosts that haunt you.


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